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"SAKAH,  LET  ME  LISTEN  WHILE  THE  DKUMS  MARCH  BY." 


CITY  FESTIVALS 


BY 


WILL  CARLETON 

-ICUTHOR   OF 
FARM   ballads"    "FARM    LEGENDS"    "FARM   FESTIVALS' 
"CITY   BALLADS  "    "CITY   LEGENDS"   ETC. 


ILLUSTRA  TED 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1892 


Copyright,  1892,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 
GOD,  THE  GREAT  FATHER 

TO 

EARTH,   THE    GREAT    MOTHER 

AND  TO 

THE  SUFFERING,  SORROWING 

REJOICING,  CONQUERING,  HUMAN  RACE 

ALL    SISTERS    AND    BROTHERS 


Hbreface. 


IN  this  sixth  and  last  book  of  the  Farm  and  City  Series,  it  may  be  appropriate 
for  its  author  to  mention  the  plan  and  theory  which  he  has  endeavored  to 
make  his  guide  throughout  the  work. 

He  believes,  first,  that  the  most  important  consideration  of  a  book  or  a  poem, 
so  far  as  it  is  within  the  author's  control,  is  the  motive ;  which  should  be  con- 
nected either  with  the  substantial  improvement,  or  the  rational  entertainment  of 
the  human  race.  The  author  who  has  the  attention  of  any  great  number  of  peo- 
ple, and  does  not  use  it  to  make  them  better  and  truer,  is  to  be  pitied,  as  well  as 
his  readers. 

Second,  he  believes  that  the  next  most  important  thing  in  a  book  or  poem,  is 
its  spirit  and  feeling — the  servant  of  the  motive.  This  should  be  hearty,  deep, 
and  sincere.  Whatever  the  feeling  which  the  author  strives  to  express,  he  must 
first  experience  himself,  in  order  to  communicate  it  to  his  readers.  No  writer  can 
touch  the  heart  of  his  audience,  unless  his  own  heart  has  first  been  touched.  The 
only  sure  way  to  the  brain  is  through  the  heart.  Millions  of  volumes  are  to-day 
finger-deep  in  the  dust  of  library-cemeteries,  because  their  makers  did  not  write 
them  with  their  hearts — did  not  really  mean  what  they  said.  And  the  public  felt 
the  lack,  knew  them  for  something  it  did  not  wish,  and  neglected  them. 

Third,  he  believes  that  the  next  most  important  consideration  in  a  book  or 
a  poem  is  the  subject-matter — the  thought,  the  material — servant  of  the  motive 
and  feeling.  This  should  never  be  above  the  comprehension  of  the  average  mind 
and  thought  of  the  world — if  the  author  expects  to  write  for  the  people  in  gen- 
eral, and  not  for  the  short-lived  praises  of  a  small,  transient,  artificial  admiration- 
society.  There  is  no  thought  so  great,  so  complicated,  so  ineffably  sublime,  that 
it  cannot  be  resolved  into  elements  easily  understood  by  the  average  human  in- 
tellect. It  should  be  the  work  of  a  poet,  not  to  make  plain  thought  or  lack  of 
thought  complex  and  difficalt  of  being  understood,  but  to  simplify  and  interpret 
nature  and  art  to  his  readers ;  not  to  produce  a  series  of  rhymed  riddles  and 
enigmas,  but  epics,  dramas,  or  lyrics  such  as  the  human  race  can  understand, 
enjoy,  and  use,  for  their  entertainment  and  instruction. 

Fourth,  the  language  of  a  book  or  poem — servant  of  the  motive,  thought,  and 
feeling — should  not  be  stilted  or  strained.     An  author  ought  not  to  consider  that 


viii  Preface. 

the  moment  he  drops  into  rhyme,  he  must  immediately  rise  again,  in  a  balloon  of 
polysyllabic  words  and  incomprehensible  phrases.  The  clearer  the  window-pane, 
the  brighter  may  be  seen  the  flowers  of  the  garden  and  the  tints  of  the  sky  as  ob- 
served through  it;  and  the  simpler  and  more  lucid  the  author's  language,  the  more 
easily  are  observed  and  felt  whatever  beauty  and  power  the  thought  may  possess. 

It  is  often  allowable  to  introduce,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  dialect  speech  of 
some  of  the  characters  represented,  on  account  of  the  directness,  simplicity,  and 
quaintness  of  language  thus  called  into  use.  Still,  dialect  should  not  be  employed 
unsparingly,  or  with  the  evident  design  of  concealing  the  poverty  of  material  by 
the  queerness  of  the  language,  or  with  more  lapses  from  the  established  rules 
than  uneducated  people  naturally  make  (which  are  much  less  in  number  than  one 
would  suppose,  before  careful  notice).  The  great  mistake  of  many  writers  is,  that 
they  out-dialect  dialect. 

Fifth,  come  the  various  arts  which  are  used  in  making  a  book  or  poem  at- 
tractive or  efficient;  and  all  are  commendable,  if  used,  not  to  the  injury,  but  to  the 
aid  of  the  foregoing  qualities.  There  are  the  figures,  which  should  be  fresh, 
natural,  and,  as  fully  as  possible,  evolved  from  the  author's  own  thought  and  ob- 
servation ;  not  mere  reproductions  from  previous  writers.  So  far  as  an  author 
uses  another's  thoughts,  figures,  and  expressions,  either  consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously, he  is  a  compiler,  and  not  an  author.  Figures  should  also  be  striking  and 
apparent,  and  not  so  ineffably  delicate  as  to  require  a  literary  microscope  to  de- 
tect them.  There  are  the  measures ;  which  should  be  as  regular  and  as  conform- 
able to  established  rules  as  the  thought  and  -feeling  permit,  but  should  not  be 
made  into  jails  in  which  to  imprison  and  stifle  sentiment  and  sense.  There  are 
the  rhymes;  which,  if  used,  should  be  short,  perfect,  or  extremely  allowable,  and,  if 
possible,  striking  and  felicitous.  And  there  are  many  other  generally  admitted 
arts  and  expedients,  which,  like  architecture  with  the  casual  observer,  have  more 
or  less  effect  upon  all  readers  of  poetry,  whether  they  understand  them  or  not. 
But  all  these  last  are  only  the  humble,  though  perhaps  glittering,  slaves  of  the 
qualities  first  mentioned ;  and  when  used  without  them,  form  dreaiy  and  pitiable 
exhibits. 

These  details  of  the  poetical  creed  which  the  author  has  striven  to  follow  dur- 
ing the  preparation  of  these  volumes,  and  from  which  he  has  often  fallen  far  short, 
are  given  in  hopes  that  some  younger  writers  may  recognize  in  them  their  own 
natural  beliefs ;  that  they  may  find  in  them  a  certain  amount  of  help  and  guid- 
ance in  their  work.  In  regard  to  himself,  he  would  say,  that  although  he  has  not 
been  able  to  adhere  to  them  as  closely  as  he  could  wish,  yet  one  of  the  chief 
pleasures  which  his  millions  of  readers  afford  him  is,  that  they  induce  him  to 
believe  that  he  has,  to  some  extent  at  least,  succeeded  in  carrying  out  his  own 
theories. 

W.  C. 


Content©. 


jFestivals  of  tbe  Viation— including. 


PACK 


Hear  the  Drums  March  By 16 

Private  Brown's  Reflections 17 

Our  Guests  Unseen ' 22 

Rhymes  to  the  Day 30 

The  Thursday  Sabbath  Day 35 

Three  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  Columbus 37 

festival  of  tbe  5olls  ClcvQ^mcn—inciudinc/, 

Elder  Lamb's  Donation 60 

McFluffey's  Canoe 62 

Elder  Pettigrew's  Helpmeet 67 

Hymn-Sermon .71 

B  ifestival  of  tbe  Sfts  Clw\)— including, 

The  Child-Thief 79 

A  Leap  for  Love 84 

Flight  of  the  Aged  Balloonist 88 


Conte7its. 


Ube  jfestlpal  of  tbe  ^xtdi\^'B— including. 


PAGK 


SoNO  OF  THE  Side-Showman 101 

The  Dwarf's  Response l^*"^   ft 

The  Giant's  Story 105 

The  Spectre  Whale lli> 

The  Bridge-Jumper's  Stoky 114 

The  Bearded  Lady's  Story 118 

c;be  jfestival  of  tbe  ZTram  QXv^i—indudiwj, 

A  Modern  Cassandra 129 

Jonathan  Jarvis 132 

The  Engine-Driver's  Stoky 136 

Under  the  Wheels 140 

Ube  festival  of  J'amilp  IReunion, 

The  Festival  of  Family  Keinion 149 

IRotes. 

Notes 163 


3llu0trottons. 


PAOR 

"  Sarah,  let  me  listen  while  the  drums  march  by" Frontispiece 

"^e  bent  and  stroked  the  humble  mounds  with  kind,  old-fashioned  word"  .     19 

"  0/  heroes  that  camp  on  the  unseen  shore " 27 

"  Grandest  sailor  of  the  zones  " 45 

" '  Take  me  to  Thyself  in  grace,  0  Lord,  before  my  next  donation  /' "  .  .  63 
"  And  one  day  her  husband's  larynx  was  not  wholly  in  rejfair "  ....  69 
"  And  my  love  and  pity  clasped  her,  and  I  could  not  leave  her  there  "  .  .  81 
*'  Oh,  I  am  a  showman  old.  .  .  .Uncommonly  large  and  bold!"      ....     99 

"/  kicked  the  xohole  establishment  with  him" 109 

'''■Every  once  in  a  short  time  she'd  come  upon  us  quick" 137 

"  You  are  death-pale  and  trembling!  Here!  drink  some  more  tea!"  .  .143 
"  A  grand  old  mansion  on  a  city  road  " 153 


FESTIVALS   OF   THE    NATION. 


CITY    FESTIVALS. 


^C5tiual0  of  tlje  Katiou. 


John  Jones  of  Philadelphia  was  festively  inclined; 

Possessed  obese  anatomy  and  glad  gregarious  mind ; 

A  man  of  wealthy  bachelorhood;  with  gracious  power  and  will 

Quite  happy  oft  to  make  himself  and  others  happier  still. 

And  every  time  a  famous  Yankee  anniversary  came, 

Arrangements  promptly  he  prepared  to  celebrate  the  same: 

The  January  day  when  first  Ben  Franklin  glanced  upon 

The  Boston  which  acquired  that  day  her  most  illustrious  son ; 

The  frigid  February  date  when  Washington  first  smiled 

Upon  the  country  that  was  yet  to  call  itself  his  child ; 

The  raw  March  day  when  Quakers  made  Concession's  proclamation,' 

Thus  furnishing  a  germ  and  hint  for  our  own  Declaration ; 

The  weeping  April  day  when,  with  a  baby  voice's  aid, 

Young  Thomas  Jefferson  his  first  free  utterance  loudly  made; 

The  sweet  May  day  on  which,  amid  the  tear-drops'  fragrant  showers. 

War -mourners   covered   first  the   graves   of   those   they  loved   with 

flowers ; 
The  famous  seventeenth  day  of  June,  when,  with  new-welded  will, 
Americans  both  lost  and  won  The  Battle  of  the  Hill; 
The  sultr}"^  summer  day  when,  set  by  passion's  earthquake  free, 
A  new-found  nation  showed  its  head  above  Oppression's  sea; 
The  August  day  when  Fulton  first,  without  a  stitch  of  sail. 
Climbed  up  the  Hudson's  liquid  stair,  in  Acclamation's  gale; 


1 6  City  Festivals. 

The  blithe  September  day  this  land  has  no  right  to  forget, 

That  made  America  the  gift  of  valiant  La  Fayette; 

The  gold  October  day  in  which  Columbus  bent  the  knee, 

And  thanked  his  God  for  showing  him  a  refuge  for  the  free; 

The  bright  November  day,  when,  driven  by  patriot  endeavor. 

Armed  Britons  trimmed  reluctant  sails,  and  left  IS^ew  York  forever; 

The  bright  December  day  on  which  the  Mayflower  s  frozen  band 

Stepped  on  the  famous  Pilgrim  Rock,  and  thence  to  Freedom's  land ; 

And  several  other  days  that  came  into  his  heart  and  mind, 

On  which  the  western  world  had  served  the  cause  of  humankind. 

And  this  is  how  John  Jones  observed  the  thirtieth  morn  of  May : 
lie  gathered  thirty  veteran  braves  who  loved  the  mournful  day, 
And  strewed  their  banquet -hall  with  flowers;  for,  as  he  often  said. 
He  did  not  like  to  have  them  wait  for  wreaths,  till  they  Avere  dead. 

And  when  the  banqueting  was  done,  they  held  their  glasses  high, 

In  silent  reverence,  while  they  drank  to  comrades  in  the  sk}'^; 

And  then  came  speeches,  songs,  and  rhymes,  that  bred  the  laugh  and 

cheer. 
Or  called  a  gentle  sadness  forth,  and  many  a  silent  tear; 
And  once  a  veteran,  "who  could  feel  the  words  upon  their  way, 
Recited  this  short  monologue  of  Decoration  Day : 


HEAR  THE  DRUMS  MARCH  BY. 

Sarah,  Sarah,  Sarah,  hear  the  drums  march  by! 
This  is  Decoration  Day.     Hurry,  and  be  spry! 
"Wheel  me  to  the  window,  girl ;  fling  it  open  high ! 
Crippled  of  the  body,  now,  and  blinded  of  the  eye, 
Sarah,  let  me  listen  while  the  drums  march  by. 

Hear  'em;  how  they  roll!     I  can  feel  'em  in  my  soul. 
Hear  the  beat — beat — o'  the  boots  on  the  street; 
Hear  the  sweet  fife  cut  the  air  like  a  knife ; 
Hear  the  tones  grand  of  the  words  of  command; 
Hear  the  walls  nigh  shout  back  their  reply; 
Sarah,  Sarah,  Sarah,  hear  the  drums  dance  by! 


Festivals  of  the  Nation. 

Blind  as  a  bat,  I  can  see  'em  for  all  that; 
Old  Colonel  Ray,  stately  an'  gray, 
Riding,  slow  and  solemn,  at  head  of  the  column  ; 
There's  Major  Bell,  sober  now,  and  well; 
Old  Lengthy  Bragg,  still  a-bearing  of  the  flag ; 
There's  old  Strong,  that  I  tented  with  so  long; 
There's  the  whole  crowd,  hearty  an'  proud! 
Hey,  boys,  say !   can't  you  glance  up  this  way  ? 
Here's  an  old  comrade,  crippled  now,  and  gray ! 
This  is  too  much.     Girl,  throw  me  my  crutch ! 
I  can  see — I  can  walk — I  can  march — I  could  fly  ! 
No,  I  woiTbt  sit  still  an'  let  the  boys  march  by ! 

Oh !   I  fall  and  I  flinch ;   I  can't  go  an  inch ! 

No  use  to  flutter;  no  use  to  try. 

Where's  my  strength?     Hunt  down  at  the  front; 

There's  where  I  left  it.     No  need  to  sigh ; 

All  the  milk's  spilt ;  there's  no  use  to  cry. 

Plague  o'  these  tears,  and  the  moaning  in  my  ears ! 

Part  of  a  Avar  is  to  suffer  and  to  die; 

I  must  sit  still,  and  let  the  drums  march  by. 

Part  of  a  war  is  to  suffer  and  to  die — 

Suffer  and  to  die — suffer  and  to —    Why ! 

Of  all  the  crowd  I  just  yelled  at  so  loud. 

There's  hardly  a  one  but  is  killed,  dead,  and  gone! 

All  the  old  regiment,  excepting  only  I, 

Marched  out  of  sight  in  the  country  of  the  night. 

That  was  a  spectre  band  went  past  so  grand. 

All  the  old  boys  are  a-tenting  in  the  sky — 

Sarah,  Sarah,  Sarah,  hear  the  drums  moan  by! 


And  then  a  girl  arrayed  in  black,  her  eyes  cast  sadly  down. 
Rehearsed  a  veteran  soldier's  griefs,  in  words  of  Private  Brown 


PRIVATE   BROWN'S   REFLECTIONS. 


The  gathered  ranks  with  muffled  drums  had  grandly  marched  away- 
The  hills  had  caught  the  sunset  gleam  of  Decoration  Day; 


1 8  City  Festivals. 

The  orator  had  held  the  throng  on  sorrow's  trembling  verge, 
The  choir  had  sung  their  saddest  strains — the  band  had  played  a  dirge ; 
Some  graves  that  had  neglected  been  through  many  lonely  hours, 
Had  leaped  again  to  transient  fame,  and  blossomed  forth  with  flowers : 
And  one  old  veteran,  Private  Brown,  with  gray,  uncovered  head, 
Still  wandered  'mongst  those  small  green  hills  that  held  his  comrades 
dead. 

He  bent  and  stroked  the  humble  mounds,  with  kind,  old-fashioned  word — 
lie  called  his  comrades  all  by  name,  as  if  he  knew  they  heard ; 
He  said :  "  Ah,  Private  Johnny  Smith !  you  lie  so  cold  and  still ! 
This  isn't  much  like  that  summer  day  you  spent  at  Malvern  Hill ! 
The  bellowing  of  the  mighty  guns  your  voice  screamed  loud  above : 
You  3'elled,  '  Come  on  and  see  how  men  fight  for  the  land  they  love !' 
You  furnished  heart  for  fifty  fights ;  and  when  the  war  was  through, 
You  vainly  hunted  round  for  work  a  crippled  man  could  do. 
They  let  you  die,  with  want  and  debt  to  be  your  winding  sheet; 
But  this  bouquet  of  flowers  they  sent,  is  very  nice  and  sweet. 

"  Ah,  Jimmy  Jones !  I  recollect  the  day  they  brought  you  back  : 
They  marched  your  body  through  the  street,  'neath  banners  draped 

in  black. 
Your  funeral  sermon  glittered  well :  it  told  how  brave  you  died ; 
The  tears  your  poor  old  mother  shed,  were  partly  tears  of  pride. 
Xone  left  to-day  to  lean  upon  but  country  and  her  God, 
She  crept  from  yonder  poor-house  door  to  kiss  that  bit  of  sod. 
It's  hard,  my  boy,  but  nations  all  are  likely  to  forget ; 
And  God  must  take  His  own  good  time  to  make  them  pay  a  debt. 
The  sweet  forget-me-nots  that  grow  above  your  faithful  breast, 
Are  types  of  His  good  memory,  boy,  and  He  knows  what  is  best. 

"  Philander  Johnson,  from  the  plains  Ave  left  you  on  as  dead, 
You  carried  to  the  prison-])en  a  keepsake  made  of  lead ; 
lou  starved  there  for  your  country's  good— at  last  you  broke  away. 
And  got  in  time  to  Gettysburg  to  help  them  save  the  day. 
\  ou  hired  a  man  to  ask  for  you  a  pension,  'twould  appear : 
lour  papers  lost — they  put  you  off  from  weary  year  to  year. 
And  when  at  last  you  took  your  less -than -thirty  cents  a  day, 
You  had  to  fight  to  keep  the  law  from  taking  it  away. 


"he  bent  and  stroked  the  HtlMnLE  MOUNDS,  AVITH   KIND,  OLD-FASHIONED  WORD." 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  21 

Some  school-boy  doctor  every  month  must  probe  your  aching  side, 
And  thump  you  like  a  tenor  drum,  to  find  out  if  you  lied. 
You  cost  the  Nation  little,  now — old  hero  of  the  fray — 
It  sent  some  very  pretty  flowers  to  strew  you  with  to  day. 

"  Yes,  Lemuel  White ;  this  little  flag  is  all  that's  left  to  mark 
The  place  where  you  retired  so  young,  to  chambers  cold  and  dark. 
The  wooden  slab  I  put  up  here  so  men  your  deeds  could  know, 
Was  broken  down  by  sundry  beasts,  not  many  months  ago. 
But  yonder  monument  upreared  upon  the  village  green. 
Is  partly  yours,  although  your  name  is  nowhere  to  be  seen ; 
The  country  had  your  body,  boy,  it  gives  to  God  your  soul ; 
It  needed  not  your  name  except  upon  the  muster  roll! 

"  Forgive  me,  boys — forgive  me,  God !  if  I  bad  blood  display ; 

But  flowers  seem  cheap  to  men  ^vhose  hearts  are  aching  day  by  day. 

Forgive  me,  every  woman  true,  whose  tender,  thrilling  hand 

Has  lifted  up  to  bless  and  soothe  the  saviors  of  the  land. 

Forgive  me,  every  manly  heart  that  knows  the  fearful  strain 

Of  standing  'twixt  America  and  blood  and  death  and  pain. 

Forgive  me,  all  who  know  enough  to  fight  the  future  foe, 

By  doing  justice  to  the  ones  who  fought  so  long  ago! 

It  is  to  those  who  trample  us,  that  I  feel  called  to  say, 

That  flowers  look  cheap  to  those  who  starve  and  suffer  day  by  day !" 

The  sun  had  fallen  out  of  view ;  the  night  came  marching  down ; 
The  twinkle  of  the  window- lights  came  creeping  from  the  town. 
The  band  was  playing  cheerful  airs — glad  voices  decked  the  scene — 
And  dancing  were  the  youths  and  maids  upon  the  village  green. 
The  gloomy  graves  were  half  forgot,  and  pleasure  ruled  the  night; 
But  God  has  ways  to  teach  us  yet,  that  Private  Brown  was  right. 


And  last  of  all  for  them  was  read,  with  martial  tone  and  mien, 
A  tribute  to  the  famous  dead,  and  called, 
2 


22  City  Festivals. 


OUR  GUESTS  UNSEEN. 

Who  are  the  guests  in  this  festal  throng  ? 

Many  are  here  that  we  love  and  see: 
Men  who  have  heard  the  soprano  song 

Of  flying  bullets  that  death  set  free; 
Men  who  left  a  part  of  their  days 

Off  in  the  field  where  the  blood  stains  are; 
Men  who  had  dropped  the  sweet  home -ways 

Out  of  their  hands,  to  grasp  a  star. 
Honor  to  those  who  are  living  yet ! 

Time  shall  their  laurels  make  more  green! 
But  at  this  hour  we  must  not  forget 

Those  we  may  call  our  guests  unseen. 

One  is  here  whose  piercing  eyes 

Sharpened  young  for  his  country's  sake ; 
Craving  more  than  ambition's  prize — 

Great  with  the  plans  that  brave  men  make. 
Once  he  saw  the  flag  of  the  foe 

Mocking  a  history- hallowed  town: 
He  said,  "  That  banner  must  be  brought  low — 

I  will  go  myself  and  haul  it  down!" 
He  climbed  the  dangerous,  giddy  stair — 

He  braved  the  ambushes  that  he  passed ; 
He  did  not  send,  but  himself  went  there, 

And  stripped  the  flag  from  the  rebel  mast. 
His  dark  eyes  flashed  in  the  morning  dawn, 

But  he  fell  by  a  foeman's  treacherous  crime; 
His  heart  stopped  there,  but  his  soul  went  on, 

And  joined  the  bravest  of  every  clime. 
His  body  sank  to  untimely  rest — 

The  glory  he  sought  was  snatched  away; 
But  we  know  that  he  did  his  noblest  best, 

And  gallant  Ellsworth  is  here  to-day! 

Comes  another:  so  bravely  rash. 

And  rashly  brave,  yet  steady  still ; 


Festivals  of  the  Nation,  23 

Turbulent  as  the  thunder's  crash, 

But  firm  as  the  rocks  of  an  Eastern  hill. 
And  through  the  valleys  and  o'er  the  plain, 

The. drum  of  his  horsemen's  hoof- beats  rolled; 
Death  knew  the  pull  of  his  bridle  rein, 

And  victory  gleamed  from  his  locks  of  gold. 
He  fought  till  the  Union  sky  was  bright. 

Then  flashed  his  sword  in  a  western  sun; 
He  fell  in  civilization's  fight, 

And  died  ere  half  of  his  days  were  done. 
He  camps  in  the  broad  blue  fields  above; 

He  needs  no  laurels  upon  his  brow ; 
He  comes  once  more  for  his  comrades'  love, 

And  dashing  Custer  is  with  us  now ! 

Another :  a  silent,  mighty  soul, 

AVho  rose  from  the  plane  of  common  things, 
To  half  of  the  fighting  world's  control. 

And  starred  in  the  list  of  Triumph's  kings. 
When  humbly  toiling  for  daily  bread, 

AVhen  soothed  by  Luxury's  rich  caress, 
When  measuring  acres  of  hapless  dead. 

Or  flushed  with  the  giddy  draught,  success ; 
Striving  in  blood-red  clouds  of  woe 

To  lead  the  land  'neath  victory's  sun, 
Or  taking  the  sword  of  a  fallen  foe. 

And  writing  the  great  words,  "War  is  done;" 
Or  ruling  the  marble  halls  of  state, 

Thrust  far  to  the  statesman's  utmost  goal, 
Or  ruined  by  those  he  found  too  late 

Were  friends  of  his  purse  and  not  his  soul; 
Or  toiling  on  Mount  McGregor's  height. 

Longing  for  days  that  would  let  him  die, 
Waging  meanwhile  a  sturdy  fight 

Whenever  the  foe  Despair  came  nigh ; 
From  earliest  life  to  latest  breath, 

Through  valleys  of  woe,  o'er  hills  of  pride, 
Through  glories  of  life  and  glooms  of  death. 

His  heart  and  his  brain  marched  side  by  side. 


24  City  Festivals. 

The  Hudson's  shore  has  his  death -stilled  heart; 

His  hands  in  that  hermit-tomb  may  rest; 
But  heroes  and  graves  dwell  far  apart, 

And  Grant  to-day  is  our  unseen  guest ! 

Another:  a  lithe,  commanding  form, 

Kind  features,  stern  with  a  soldier -gaze : 
A  cliff  of  rock  in  a  battle  storm, 

A  garden  of  smiles  in  peaceful  days. 
He  burned  belligerent  cities  low, 

He  planted  ruin  on  every  side, 
But  offered  love  to  a  fallen  foe, 

And  Avept  when  his  friend  McPherson  died. 
He  shaped  his  army  into  a  sword. 

And  cut  the  ememy's  land  in  twain, 
Yet  gave  the  conquered  their  kindest  word, 

And  erred,  if  ever,  to  spare  them  pain. 
The  olRce- heroes  who  fought  for  place. 

Strove  hard  to  fetter  him  Avith  their  pelf; 
But  he  fought  for  his  country  and  his  race. 

And  not  for  jewels  to  crown  himself. 
In  times  of  peace  it  was  his  to  be 

The  foremost  gentleman  of  the  land; 
Death  has  no  power  o'er  such  as  he, 

So  reach  for  the  brave  old  Sherman's  hand! 

Another:  a  sturdy  Irish  heart. 

That  gave  to  this  land  its  life-long  aid ; 
The  rush  of  the  whirlwind  sped  his  dart. 

The  flash  of  the  lightning  fired  his  blade. 
He  swore  like  a  trooper,  but  what  he  swore 

Was  never  known  to  fall  or  fail; 
^His  oaths  in  The  Book  may  be  blotted  o'er. 

For  he  sinned  that  God's  cause  might  prevail. 
Once  freedom's  ranks  were  melting  away; 

He  moulded  panics  to  victory,  then. 
Rode  down  disaster  and  saved  the  day ; — 

He  was  good  as  a  hundred  thousand  men ! 
His  iron  heart  lies  'neath  sods  of  green. 

His  shoulder -stars  have  been  hung  away; 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  25 

But  he  rides  on  lofty  roads  unseen, 
And  Sheridan's  soul  is  here  to-day! 

Another:  a  tall  and  sinewy  form, 

A  face  marked  deep  with  the  lines  of  care; 
A  will  of  iron,  but  a  heart  as  warm 

As  fiery  breeze  of  the  tropic  air. 
He  was  born  a  prince,  but  in  hovels  cast — 

He  made  the  cabin  a  palace,  then ; 
He  grew  to  be  more  than  a  king,  at  last ; 

For  monarchs,  you  know,  are  not  always  men. 
His  fight  for  the  crown  was  hard  and  grim, 

But  his  march  to  the  front  was  firm  and  true; 
He  fought  for  the  stars,  and  the  stars  for  him, 

And  God  had  miracles  he  must  do. 
At  last  he  came  to  his  lofty  place. 

But  wild  rebellion  was  knocking  there; 
Hot  anger  frowned  at  his  honest  face, 

And  desolation  was  in  the  air. 
He  swore  that  treason  should  be  met 

By  every  pain  that  could  lay  it  low, 
He  rallied  ruin  against  it;  yet 

His  heart  beat  warm  for  every  foe. 
So  on  he  toiled,  till  lo !   in  view 

Swept  sacred  Emancipation's  plan ! 
He  did  the  deed  he  was  sent  to  do; 

For  God  was  there,  and  God  knew  His  man. 
Guiding  the  nation  in  rocks  and  shoals. 

He  climbed  the  eternal  mast  of  fame, 
And,  graced  with  the  thanks  of  all  true  souls, 

"Wrote  Liberator  before  his  name. 
His  eyes  flashed  triumph,  then  swift  gi*ew  dim — 

A  murderer  tore  that  life  apart; 
But  those  he  loved  are  still  loving  him. 

And  Lincoln  is  here  in  every  heart! 

But  why  should  I  call  the  muster-roll 

Of  those  who  are  here  in  our  hearts  to-day? 

They  need  no  naming;  each  true,  grand  soul 

Has  heard  your  summons  and  marched  this  way. 


26  City  Festivals. 

Why  call  to  Hancock,  worthy  all  praise, 

Superb  in  stature  and  mental  might. 
Who  helped  save  Gettysburg's  ominous  days. 

And  left  brave  blood  at  that  glorious  light? 
Why  call  to  Sedgwick — modest  man — 

Who  longed  but  to  do  his  duty  well; 
Who  died  in  the  battle's  deadly  van. 

With  no  obeisance  to  shot  or  shell? 
Why  call  McClellan,  whose  last  life  view 

Traced  over  these  hills  its  eager  track,* 
Whose  soldiers  called  him  their  comrade  true, 

And  spoke  of  him  ever  as  "Little  Mac?" 
The  Kearneys,  the  Wadsworths,  the  Burnsides,  the  Meades, 

Charge  to  the  front  of  our  memory;  they 
Endorse  their  commissions  Avith  noble  deeds, 

And  star  in  this  festal  throng  to-day. 
A  mighty  and  brilliant  band  is  here, 

That  none  with  the  eye  of  flesh  may  see; 
They  come  from  their  graves  both  far  and  near, 

Their  bodies  prisoned,  their  souls  set  free. 
Year  after  year  this  unseen  throng. 

By  death  recruited,  counts  more  and  more ; 
And  louder  and  louder  the  battle-song 

Of  heroes  that  camp  on  the  unseen  shore. 
If  they  could,  speak  to  us  all  to-day, 

These  words  with  their  greetings  would  be  twined : 
"Kemember  us  with  what  love  you  may. 

But  care  for  our  loved  ones  left  behind. 
You  give  us  monuments  grand  and  high, 

You  sing  to  our  bravery  o'er  and  o'er. 
But  let  us  know  that  we  did  not  die 

That  those  we  cherished  might  suffer  more!" 

And  where  are  the  thousands  who  bravelv  Ava^ed 
A  losing  strife?    Whose  hearts  were  true, 

Though  false  their  cause?    Whose  souls  engaged 
Their  all  in  the  work  they  had  to  do? 

The  warrior  crudest  in  the  fiffht, 
Is .  tenderest  to  the  fallen  foe  ; 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  29 

The  hand  that  stabs  with  deadliest  might, 

Would  stanch  forever  the  crimson  flow. 
If  all  of  the  noblest  Southern  dead 

Could  march  together  into  this  place, 
With  Lee's  tall  form  at  the  column's  head. 

And  Stonewall  Jackson's  calm,  kind  face,' 
And  each  should  bear  the  smile  of  a  friend, 

As  many  of  those  who  live  have  done, 
No  man  that  is  here,  but  would  straight  extend 

The  hand  of  friendship  to  every  one. 
The  war  is  over;  the  strife  has  fled; 

Love  lingers  the  living  ones  between; 
Let  all  of  the  brave  Confederate  dead 

Be  Avelcomed  here  as  our  guests  unseen! 

The  smoke  of  our  cannon  has  sailed  away ; 

The  clouds  are  gone  and  the  sky  is  clear. 
Heaven  looks  from  eternal  heights  to-day. 

And  finds  that  the  nation  still  is  here. 
The  North  and  the  South,  the  East  and  West, 

The  dead,  the  living,  all  agree 
That  this  shall  be  the  grandest — best — 

Of  all  the  nations  that  time  can  see ; 
Shall  laugh  at  centuries  as  they  sweep 

In  clouds  and  sunbeams  above  its  head; 
Shall  all  of  our  stars  in  safety  keep. 

Shall  hold  the  hands  of  our  patriot  dead. 
But  how  ?    By  lying  in  sloth  serene  ? 

By  letting  the  soldier -spirit  cease, 
While  foreign  king  and  foreign  queen 

Still  marshal  their  troops  in  time  of  peace? 
While  hosts  of  the  East  march  to  and  fro 

With  muskets  flashing  and  bugles  that  ring, 
Read}'-  to  grapple  with  any  foe 

With  all  that  discipline's  strength  can  bring? 
While  navies  wander  from  sea  to  sea, 

Beady  to  shell  the  resistless  town, 
Able,  if  conflict  with  them  should  be. 

To  storm  our  cities  and  crush  them  down? 


30  City  Festivals. 

Rally,  O  men  of  the  Western  land !' 

You  hold  this  country  by  heaven's  own  right! 
Strive  hard  and  remember,  hand  in  hand, 

How  best  to  struggle  and  how  to  fight! 
God  loves  sweet  peace ;  but  when  the  laws 

Of  peace  are  broken  by  lawless  ones, 
I  notice  He  loves  to  have  His  cause 

Hedged  round  with  the  best  of  men  and  guns. 
So  let  us  learn  in  the  time  of  peace 

The  many  hardships  war  may  mean, 
And  never  upon  our  hearts  shall  cease 

To  glitter  the  smiles  of  our  guests  unseen! 

II. 

John  Jones,  of  course,  made  large  the  day  America  was  born ; 
He  fired  a  hundred  signal-guns  to  greet  the  opening  morn; 
From  his  cool  summer  home,  a  small  quaint  city  'mongst  the  isles 
That  wreathe  the  broad  St.  Lawrence'  face  into  its  sweetest  smiles. 
All  'mongst  the  near  Canadian  lands  the  echoes  forced  their  way, 
Which  sent  them  back,  thus  helping  much  to  celebrate  the  day. 

And  as  the  morn  with  Freedom's  sun  grew  radiant  more  and  more, 

A  hundred  neighbor -islanders  came  sailing  to  his  shore; 

Their  tiny  frigates  decked  with  flags  of  patriotic  hue. 

And  faces  full  of  joy  and  tan,  made  eloquent  the  view ; 

And  in  a  grove  where  freedom's  air  was  whispering  overhead, 

When  dinners  and  orations  ceased,  the  following  lines  were  read : 

RHYMES   TO   THE    DAY. 

Oh,  the  Fourth  of  July ! 

When  fire -crackers  fly. 
And  urchins  in  petticoats  tyrants  defy  I 

When  all  the  still  air 

Creeps  away  in  despair, 
And  Clamor  is  king,  be  the  day  dark  or  fair! 

When  Freedom's  red  flowers 

Fall  in  star-spangled  showers, 
And  Liberty  capers  for  twenty-four  hours! 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  31 

When  the  morn's  ushered  in 

By  a  sleep-crushing  din, 
That  tempts  us  to  use  philological  sin! 

When  the  forenoon  advances 

With  large  circumstances 
Subjecting  our  lives  to  debatable  chances ! 

When  the  soldiers  of  peace 

Their  attractions  increase, 
By  marching,  protected  with  clubs  of  police! 

When  the  little  toy -gun 

Has  its  share  of  the  fun, 
By  teaching  short -hand  to  the  favorite  son! 

When  maids  do  not  scream 

At  the  gun's  noise  and  gleam, 
Being  chock-full  of  patriotism,  gum,  and  ice-cream! 

When  horses,  hardv  bittish. 

Get  nervous  and  skittish, 
Not  knowing  their  ancestors  helped  whip  the  British! 

When  the  family  flag. 

Full  of  stars,  stripes,  and  brag, 
From  the  window  pops  out  like  a  cat  from  a  bag! 

When  picnic  crowds  go  forth, 

Their  freedom  to  throw  forth. 
Coming  back  full  of  patriotism,  glory,  and  so  forth! 

When  long -trained  excursions, 

"With  various  diversions. 
Go  out  and  make  work  for  the  doctors  and  surgeons ! 

"When  Uncle  Jim  Brown 

Drives  his  wagon  to  town, 
Full  of  gingerbread,  children,  and  thirst — for  renown  I 

When  good  dear  sister  Jones 

Hears  the  tumult  with  groans. 
And  prays  that  her  children  come  off  with  whole  bones! 

When  all  fancies  and  joys 

That  can  compass  a  noise. 
The  country  in  one  day  of  glory  employs! 

'Tis  a  glorious  time 

For  a  song  or  a  rhyme, 
Or  a  grand  cannonade,  or  an  orchestra's  chime, 


City  Festivals. 

If  one  can  live  through  it, 
And  not  come  to  rue  it — 
The  day  that  our  forefather  said  they  would  do  it! 

Oh,  the  Fourth  of  July ! 

When  grand  souls  hover  nigh, 
"When  Washington  bends  from  the  honest  blue  sky! 

When  Jefferson  stands — 

Famous  scribe  of  all  lands — 
The  charter  of  Heaven  in  his  glorified  hands! 

When  his  comrade — strong,  high 

John  Adams,  comes  nigh — 
For  both  went  to  their  rest  the  same  Fourth  of  July! 

When  Franklin — grand — droll — 

That  could  lightnings  control — 
Comes  here  with  his  sturdy,  progressive  old  soul! 

When  Freedom's  strong  staff, 

Hancock — with  a  laugh — 
Writes  in  Memory's  Album  his  huge  autograph! 

When  old  Putnam  is  met : 

Who — they'll  never  forget — 
Showed  the  foe  that  a  God  was  in  Israel  yet ! 

When  Mad  Anthony  Wayne 

Rides  up  with  loose  rein. 
And  receives  our  encomiums  for  being  insane! 

When  George  the  Third,  flounced 

From  this  country,  well  trounced, 
Wishes  now  that  his  madness  had  been  less  pronounced  I 

When  comes  Hamilton,  fain 

To  neglect  to  explain 
How  so  little  a  form  could  support  such  a  brain! 

When  the  brave  Lafayette, 

Our  preserver  and  pet. 
Comes  again  to  coUect  of  us  Gratitude's  debt! 

When  Marion  advances, 

(His  Christian -name  Francis) 
Who  played  for  the  Bi'itish  in  several  dances! 

When  all  the  souls  grand 

That  made  mighty  our  land, 
Around  us  in  hopefulness  silently  stand, 


Festivals  of  the  Nation,  33 

And  wish,  beyond  doubt, 

That  they  also  could  shout, 
And  help  ring  the  anthem  of  Liberty  out ! 

When  the  peals  of  our  mirth. 

And  our  claims  of  true  worth, 
Are  heard  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth ; 

To  the  low  and  the  high, 

Who  the  tyrants  defy, 
A  glorious  old  day  is  the  Fourth  of  July ! 

But  let  thought  have  its  way, 

And  give  memory  sway : 
Do  we  think  of  the  cost  of  this  glorified  day? 

Do  we  think  of  the  pain 

Of  the  body,  heart,  brain — 
The  toils  of  the  living,  the  blood  of  the  slain? 

Should  we  ever  forget 

What  a  deep -mortgaged  debt 
Has  been  placed  on  this  date,  and  exists  even  yet  ? 

What  to  our  minds  saith 

The  icy  cold  breath 
Of  Yalley  Forge — freezing  our  soldiers  to  death? 

Can  our  hearts  find  a  tongue 

For  those  men,  old  and  young. 
Who  fought  while  a  rope  o'er  their  heads  grimly  hung? 

Of  the  toils  o'er  and  o'er 

That  brave  Unionists  bore, 
That  our  country  might  not  go  to  pieces  once  more  ? 

Do  we  think,  while  overt 

Patriotism  we  assert. 
How  a  sword -blade  will  sting — how  a  bullet  can  hurt? 

Do  we  feel  the  fierce  strain 

Of  the  edge-belinked  chain 
That  drags  through  the  body — a  wounded  man's  pain? 

Do  we  know,  by- the -way, 

What  it  might  be  to  stay 
In  the  wards  of  a  hospital,  day  after  day, 

While  our  life-blood  was  shed 

On  a  pain-mattressed  bed. 
And  no  one  we  loved  to  stand  near  us  when  dead? 


34  Ciiy  Festivals. 

"What  it  may  be  to  lie 

'Keath  a  smoke -blotted  sky, 
"With  horse -hoofs  to  trample  us  e'en  as  we  die? 

Do  we  think  of  that  boy, 

Full  of  hope,  love,  and  joy, 
"Who  died  lest  strong  men  should  his  country  destroy  ? 

Of  that  husband  who  fell 

In  the  blood -streaming  dell. 
Leaving  only  the  memory  of  battles  fought  well  ? 

While  the  harvest  field  waves. 

Do  we  think  of  those  braves 
In  the  farms  quickly  planted  with  thousands  of  graves? 

How  the  great  flag  up  there, 

Clean  and  pure  as  the  air. 
Has  been  drabbled  with  blood -drops,  and  trailed  in  despair? 

Do  we  know  what  a  land 

God  hath  placed  in  our  hand, 
To  be  made  into  star -gems,  or  crushed  into  sand? 

Let  us  feel  that  our  race. 

Doomed  to  no  second  place, 
Must  glitter  with  triumph  or  die  in  disgrace ; 

That  millions  unborn. 

At  night,  noon,  and  morn, 
"Will  thank  us  with  blessings  or  curse  us  with  scorn, 

For  raising  more  high 

Freedom's  flag  to  the  sky. 
Or  losing  forever  the  Fourth  of  July ! 

III. 

But  John  Jones's  hospitality  made  wide  and  full  display, 
Upon  that  pious  carnival  yclept  Thanksgiving  Day; 
"Which  gives  more  scope  to  appetite  than  any  other  one. 
And  makes  us  thankful  when  at  last  the  feeding  all  is  done. 

John  Jones,  of  Philadelphia,  on  one  Thanksgiving  tide, 
Sent  word  to  every  Jones  he  knew,  to  hasten  to  his  side ; 
If  rich  as  Vanderbilt  or  Gould,  or  poor  as  that  absurd 
Slim  biped  of  the  proverb — dear  old  Job's  Thanksgiving  bird ; 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  35 

And  seated  them  in  padded  chairs,  wherein  they  might  recline, 
When  they  had  dined  and  dined  until  they  could  no  longer  dine ; 
And  when  food's  drowsiness  began  across  their  nerves  to  creep, 
He  read  to  them  the  following  lines,  and  put  them  all  to  sleep : 


THE  THURSDAY   SABBATH   DAY. 

It  is  with  us,  it  is  with  us,  be  the  weather  dark  or  fair; 
See  the  joy  upon  the  faces,  feel  the  blessings  in  the  air! 
Get  the  dining -chamber  ready,  let  the  kitchen  fire  be  filled, 
Into  gold-leaf  slice  the  pumpkins,  have  the  fatted  turkey  killed ! 
Hunt  the  barn,  with  hay  upholstered,  for  the  ivory -prisoned  eggs; 
Tie  the  chickens  in  a  bundle  by  their  strong  and  yellow  legs ! 
It  was  eagerly  expected,  and  a  year  upon  its  way ; 
We've  a  royal  welcome  ready  for  the  Thursday  Sabbath  Day! 

And  we  first  will  go  to  meeting:  where  the  parson  one  may  hear 
Pack  in  gilded  words  the  blessings  that  have  gathered  round  the  year ; 
And  the  choir  will  sing  an  anthem  full  of  unincumbered  might. 
That  their  stomachs  would  not  let  them,  if  they  waited  until  night ; 
Older  people  will  sit  musing  of  Thanksgiving  mornings  fled — 
Younger  people  will  sit  thinking  of  Thanksgiving  Days  ahead ; 
But  they'll  join  in  silent  concert  when  the  parson  comes  to  pray, 
For  the  world  is  all  religious  on  the  Thursday  Sabbath  Day ! 

Then  I  hear  the  kindly  racket,  and  the  traffic  of  old  news, 

Of  a  meeting  after  meeting,  'mid  the  porches  and  the  pews ; 

They  will  tell  each  other  blessings  that  are  fortdled  o'er  and  prized — 

They  will  tell  each  other  blessings  by  Affliction's  hand  disguised. 

For  the  health  that  is  a  fortune,  and  the  harvest  full  of  gold. 

Side  by  side  with  influenza  and  rheumatics  will  be  told ; 

Here  we'll  hope  that  many  foemen  to  each  other's  side  may  stray: 

For  the  world  should  all  be  friendly  on  the  Thursday  Sabbath  Day ! 

"  Come  to  dinner !"    We  are  coming,  we  are  coming,  fat  and  spare ! 
Smell  the  sweet  and  savory  music  of  the  odors  in  the  air ! 
Hear  the  dishes  pet  each  other  with  their  soft  and  mellow  clash ! 
Feel  the  snow  of  loaflets  broken,  see  the  table-sabres  flash ! 


$6  City  Festivals. 

Let  our  palates  climb  the  gamut  of  delight -producing  taste, 
Our  interiors  feel  the  presence  of  provisions  neatly  placed ; 
Full  of  thanks  and  full  of  praises,  full  of  conversation  gay, 
Full  of  everything  congenial,  on  the  Thursday  Sabbath  Day ! 

Ah,  the  poor  and  sick  and  suffering !     To  our  glad  hearts  be  it  known 
That  God  never  gave  a  blessing  to  be  clenched  and  held  alone; 
They  are  brothers,  they  are  sisters,  and  entitled  to  their  share ; 
"We  shall  always  have  them  with  us — He  has  put  them  in  our  care. 
You  who  clutch  at  every  mercy  and  devote  it  to  yourselves. 
You  are  putting  mammoth  treasures  on  the  weakest  kind  of  shelves. 
You  who  take  the  wares  of  Heaven  and  divide  them  while  you  may, 
"Will  behold  their  value  doubled,  on  some  other  Sabbath  Day ! 

They  are  coming,  they  are  coming!     Let  the  breezes  lisp  the  tale, 
Let  the  mountains  look  and  see  them  on  the  centuries'  upward  trail ; 
Let  the  valleys  smile  their  sweetest,  let  the  lakes  their  parents  greet, 
As  the  river  seeks  the  ocean  with  its  silver -slippered  feet. 
Let  all  pleasures  be  more  pleasant,  let  all  griefs  with  help  be  nerved ; 
Let  all  blessings  seek  their  sources  with  the  thanks  that  are  deserved. 
Every  spirit  must  look  heavenward,  every  heart  must  tribute  pay 
To  the  Soul  of  souls  that  led  us  to  the  Thursday  Sabbath  Day! 


IV. 

Jones  also  celebrated,  in  a  gastronomic  way. 
That  lucky  date  for  humankind  he  called  "  Discovery  Day ;" 
He  furnished  every  novel  dish  that  money  could  command. 
Each  new  discovery  how  to  spoil  the  works  of  Nature's  hand ; 
He  sent  his  minions  marching  through  the  whole  preceding  year, 
For  any  new  development  of  cooking  quaint  and  queer. 
Each  course  a  revelation  was — loud  greeted  with  surprise, 
And  palatal  expectancy,  and  interested  e3'es. 

And  once  he  turned  unto  their  view  a  histrionic  page : 
Annexed  unto  his  dining-room  some  scenery  and  a  stage ; 
And  when  the  rich  unique  dessert  its  place  no  longer  knew, 
The  curtain  rose,  exhibiting  a  Spanish  convent  view; 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  37 

With  actors  ready  to  begin  a  short  historic  play, 

Full  of  material  more  or  less  appropriate  to  the  day. 

"  These  players  are  new  aspirants,  whom  please  do  not  condemn," 

He  murmured  to  his  smiling  guests :  "  'fact,  I  discovered  them." 


THREE    SCENES    IN    THE    LIFE    OF   COLUMBUS.'* 

Scene  I.,  a  hall  in  the  Dominican  Convent  of  Salamanca.  Council  of 
learned  men  assembled  to  pass  judgment  on  the  proposed  enterprise  of 
Columbus.     Enter  Talavera,  who  calls  the  Council  to  order, 

Talaveka. 
Best  educated  men  of  all  this  realm, 
Best  educated  men  of  all  this  earth. 
Accountants  of  the  past,  appraisers  of 
The  present ;  you  who  have  the  trade 
Of  digging  knowledge -nuggets  from  all  times. 
And  carving  them  in  jewels  fit  to  wear. 
Who  know  what's  best  and  what's  best  not  to  know, 
Whose  learned  breath  upon  thought  -  harvests  thrown, 
Whips  chaff  away  and  leaves  the  grain  of  truth : 
You  have  been  called  together  by  the  King, 
Most  potent  Ferdinand,  and  by  the  Queen, 
Most  pious  Isabel,  to  judge  the  claims 
Of  one  Columbus ;  an  Italian  born. 
Who  asks  of  Spain  her  countenance  and  help 
Through  the  great  Western  wilderness  of  waves, 
While  he  discovers  lands  to  you  unknown. 

First  Scientist. 
We  need  no  foreigner  to  mend  our  maps. 

Deza. 

Soft,  learned  man,  let  learning  teach  you  patience ; 
Pass  not  the  judgment  till  the  cause  appears. 
Let  the  man  speak  before  you  answer  him. 

Talavera. 
Tis  well  enough.     Columbus,  state  your  case ; 
Unroll  your  wares ;  exhibit  us  a  wish. 


38  City  Festivals. 

Columbus  {raising  himself  jj^oudly). 
I  would  complete  the  world ! 

First  Scientist. 

Irreverent  clown! 
Pity  God  did  not  rest  another  day, 
And  let  you  try  your  hand ! 

Deza. 

Rest  you  instead. 
Let  him  enlarge  his  daring  epigram. 

Columbus. 
So  with  due  modesty  and  sense  I  Avill.  {^Unfolding  a  cha/rt. 

This  world  hath  leagues  that  Europe  knows  not  of; 
Hath  waves  that  Eastern  ship  did  never  cleave ; 
Hath  rivers,  forests,  islands,  continents, 
Minds,  hearts,  and  treasures  now  by  distance  hidden, 
1  would  sail  westward  till  I  find  those  lands 
Where  the  sun  lifts  to  eastward -gazing  eyes;  I 

AVould  journey  still  unto  the  drooping  sun, 
Through  regions  of  bewildering  opulence, 
And  harvest  all  for  God's  own  glory — He 
AVho  planted  it !     I'd  give  the  nation  wealth 
Greater  by  far  than  she  has  ever  wished. 
All  this  I  guarantee,  if  only  lent 
Strong  sails  to  spread,  and  crews  to  man  my  ships. 

Talavera. 
Here  is  a  Grecian  bearing  gifts  indeed! 
Or  rather  an  Italian,  offering 

To  fetch  them  at  our  cost.     These  smooth  designs 
Brush  us  with  velvet  that  may  cover  claws. 
Question  him,  men  of  learning!     Read  his  mindl 

First  Scientist. 
What  university  may  you  be  of, 
Learned  philosopher?    What  your  degree? 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  39 

Columbus. 
Tlie  ocean  is  my  university ; 
My  sole  degree  is  that  of  Mariner, 
"Well  tried  and  always  true.     Lectures  I've  heard, 
Wherever  sailing — 'mid  the  ocean  day, 
And  the  dark,  treacherous  night.     The  travelled  winds 
Thundered  their  lessons  at  me.     I  have  seen 
Many  discussions  of  the  deep -voiced  waves. 
Each  star  that  sees  our  whole  world  from  the  skies 
Is  a  professor  to  me.     I  have  learned 
Much  from  my  own  long  meditations ;  whence 
A  light  flames  up  at  last,  by  which  I  read 
My  Heaven  -  signed  commission. 

Talavera.  "Well,  well,  well ! 

Here  is  a  dreamer! 

Deza.  Dreams  ofttimes  come  true. 

Second  Scibntist. 
K^ature  of  course  hath  schools ;  men  all  may  read 
From  alphabets  around  them ;  but  we  hold 
All  observation  naught,  until  confirmed 
By  others'  words.     Tell,  then,  what  hast  thou  gleaned 
From  learned  pens  or  voices  ? 

Columbus.  I've  conversed 

Many  a  day  and  night  with  sea -taught  men — 
Old  sages  of  the  ocean — whose  weird  tales 
Are  full  of  half -hid  meaning;  they  Tvho  teach 
The  classics  of  the  ocean.     All  the  flowers 
And  weeds  of  their  romances  root  in  truth. 
However  hidden  far  may  be  the  soil. 
Their  tongues  have  graven  these  words  upon  my  soul : 
There's  land  to  westward  ! 

Third  Scientist  {laughing). 

Give  him  a  degree! 
Taught  by  illiterate  sailors!     Learned  man! 
3 


40  City  Festivals. 

Deza. 
Still,  better  than  a  college -branded  fool. 

Talaveba. 
Whence  is  your  family,  searcher  after  power? 

Columbus. 
Though  not  essential  to  this  argument. 
Yet  I  will  answer ;  it  is  quickly  said : 
My  father  carded  wool  in  Genoa. 

FouKTH  Scientist. 
A  prince  of  sheep -pelts  hath  come  here  to  pull 
The  wool  across  our  eyes! 

Deza. 

Why  bring  to  fore 
Questions  of  birth?     'Tis  not  so  many  years. 
Your  father,  herding  asses  in  Castile, 
Begot  the  longest -eared  of  all  his  flock. 

Talaveka. 
Enough  of  breeds     Proceed,  adventurer. 

Columbus. 
Call  me  adventurer  then;  and  so  I  am, 
And  so  were  all  accomplishers.     No  prize 
Is  won  without  adventuring.     As  for  birth. 
The  time  will  come,  when  titled  families 
Will  angle  for  my  name,  and  fight  to  spread 
The  lie  that  I  sprang  from  their  mouldy  roots. 
My  deeds  be  my  escutcheon ! 

Talaveea.  Cease  your  boasts. 

And  give  performances — at  least,  in  words. 

Columbus. 
From  all  that  I  have  learned — seen — meditated — 
All  I  have  viewed  with  Inspiration's  help. 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  41 

From,  every  hill  of  thought  God  leads  me  to, 

I  swear  that  on  the  farther  side  o'  the  earth, 

Balancing  that  which  we  now  know  and  walk,  » 

Is  land! — great  continents  of  unknown  land! 

"Which  I  can  reach,  with  westward -pointed  prow. 

And  through  it  Asia,  with  her  wealth -crammed  mines, 

All  to  be  thus  for  God's  own  glory  gained. 

Deza. 
Bravo ! — thrice  bravo  ! — 'tis  a  mingled  voice 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth,  that  brings  these  words  to  us ! 

Fifth  Scientist. 
All  hail  to  this  discoverer  of  new  lands — 
This  king  of  topsy-turvey,  whose  domains 
Cling  unto  earth  as  do  the  barnacles 
Sometimes  upon  the  bottom  of 'a  ship! 
Stand  him  upon  his  head  and  crown  his  heels ! 
Despatch  him  for  his  realms  in  ships  capsized! 
He  shall  send  word  of  matters  in  his  land, 
In  characters  inverted;  he  shall  tell 
How  rain  falls  upward ;  how  the  forest  trees 
Tower  downward  in  the  cellarage  of  space; 
His  subjects,  taking  lessons  from  the  flies, 
Shall  creep  along  earth's  ceiling  dextrously, 
Lest  they  might  fall  and  strike  against  a  star; 
He  shall  write,  "  Have  you  any  medicines 
For  rush  of  blood  to  th'  head  ?     If  so,  please  send 
Them  quickly  as  you  can!" 

Deza. 

If  so  there  be 
Medicaments  that  maybe  might  induce 
A  rush  of  brains  to  th'  head,  send  you  for  them. 

Columbus. 
This  world's  a  miracle,  made  by  our  God — 
Himself  Great  Miracle  of  Miracles. 
All  things  are  relative;  and  it  may  be 


A2  City  Festivals. 

That  they  who  stand  upon  Earth's  other  rim 
Look  downward  as  do  we. 

Sixth  Scientist. 

His  head  is  turned. 
But,  mystic  mariner,  suppose  you  reach 
Those  far-off  countries:  how  will  you  bring  back 
The  ships  and  treasures  that  you  took  from  us, 
To  say  nought  of  the  riches  that  you  find? 
How  would  you  contract  for  a  western  gale 
So  strong  that  it  will  push  you  up  the  hill 
That  you  have  glided  o'er  so  easily?* 

Seventh  Scientist. 
More  miracles    The  whole  thing  shall  be  done 
By  miracle! 

Eighth  Scientist. 

Since  God's  hand  is  besought 
To  help  this  project,  it  perchance  were  well 
To  ask  Him  His  opinion  of  the  same. 
I  have  here  fifty  texts  from  sacred  books, 
Proving  this  scheme  to  be  illusory. 
Which,  so  it  please  the  Council,  I  will  read. 

Deza. 
Block  not  this  pious  project  with  the  Bible  I 
Do  you  not  know  that  in  its  mystery -depths 
Are  pearls  whose  gleam  our  weak  eyes  cannot  see  ? 

Columbus. 
Little  by  little,  as  God  gives  us  light, 
We  read  the  sacred  cipher  of  His  word ; 
]^ot  only  of  His  word,  but  of  His  works. 
Doth  He  reveal  Himself.     He  would  have  us 
To  know  and  do  and  conquer  for  ourselves. 

*  Strange  as  it  may  now  appear,  these,  and  many  other  equally  brilliant  arguments, 
were  advanced  against  Columbus'  scheme  by  the  so-called  learned  men  of  the  time. 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  43 

Though  Science  and  Religion  long  may  frown 
And  flout  each  other  coldly — neither  one 
The  other  understanding — time  may  be 
When  they  can  dwell  together.     Then  will  come 
Their  wedding-day,  and  the  world  shall  rejoice. 

Talavera. 
You  should  be  pious — you  who  prophesy 
So  glibly  of  heaven -work.     But  what  hear  I 
Of  various  indiscretions  your  wild  soul 
Has  not  escaped  %     Inform  us  fully,  seer. 

Columbus  {hanging  his  head). 
I  am  not  perfect.     I  have  borne  grave  sins 
That  plague  me  sore.     The  very  monk  is  here 
To  whom  I  have  confessed. 

Deza.  This  Council,  then, 

Is  a  confessional,  which  seeks  perfection? 
Perfection  then  should  rule  it.     Let  him  rise. 
Whose  morals  have  no  flaw — who  in  his  heart 
(Which,  we  are  told,  can  nothing  hide  from  God) 
Hath  ne'er  committed  sin.     If  any  one 
Who'll  stand  my  cross-examination  for  an  hour 
Be  here,  pray  let  him  rise  and  quiz  this  man, 
And  summon  Heaven  to  witness  what  he  says. 

{^A  strange  and  sudden  interval  of  silence. 

First  Scientist. 

I  have  friends  that  I  must  meet. 

Waiting  me  in  yonder  street.  [Exit. 

Secoot)  Scientist. 

I  must  go  and  con  a  book 

In  yon  cloister's  quiet  nook.  [Exit. 

Third  Scientist. 

Leaving  quickly  I  must  be, 

As  ray  dinner  waits  for  me.  [Exit. 


44  City  Festivals. 

Fourth  Scientist. 

I  a  map  must  finish  soon. 

Of  the  mountains  of  the  moon. 


{Exit. 


Fifth  Scientist. 


I  must  teach  a  class  of  youth 
First-class  cosmographic  truth.  \Exit. 

\Tke  Council  hredks  up  in  confusion. 


Scene  II.,  Court  of  Barcelona.  Columbus,  having  returned  from  his  suc- 
cessful and  triumphant  voyage,  is  enjoying  a  grand  reception  by  the 
delighted  monarchs,  Isabella,  and  Ferdinand.  They  seat  him  beside 
them. 


Ferdinand. 


Isabella. 


Grandest  sailor  of  the  zones, 

Piercer  of  the  storm-cloud's  breast, 
Finder  of  the  lost  unknowns, 

Joiner  of  the  East  and  AYest, 
Julius  Caesar  sent  from  Spain, 

Conqueror  of  the  setting  sun, 
Alexander  of  the  main, 

All  the  heroes  fused  in  one, 
Thou  perchance  hast  made  our  lot 
Regions  such  as  Rome  had  not ; 
Thou  wilt  bring  us  splendors  grand, 
Such  as  Spain  has  never  seen ; 
Thou  wilt  make  our  twofold  land 
Of  this  earth  the  treasurer -queen. 
Thou,  the  king  of  storm  and  tide, 
Now  art  welcome  at  our  side; 
Thou  art  worthy  in  the  gleam 
Of  our  jewelled  crowns  to  beam ; 
Welcome  to  these  hearts  and  hands, 
Admiral  of  the  "Western  lands ! 

\Te  Deum  Laudamus 

Music  not  on  earth  is  met. 
Word  hath  not  been  written  yet. 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  47 

Splendor  cannot  breed  display 
Worthy  of  God's  praise  to-day! 
Nothing  mind  or  heart  can  raise 
Are  sufficient  for  his  praise. 
He  hath  led  our  messenger, 
Unappalled  by  mortal  fear, 
Through  the  forests  of  the  waves, 
Over  luckless  seamen's  graves ; 
Climbing,  on  his  mission  strange. 
Many  an  ocean  mountain  range. 
Till  he  touched  th'  uncharted  strand 
Of  a  wealth -strewn  pagan  land. 
'Mong  new  millions,  that  ne'er  heard 
Preaching  of  the  Sacred  Word, 
He  hath  given  us  the  glory 
First  to  bear  the  Sacred  Story; 
Richest  honors  now  confer 
On  this  brave -souled  messenger! 

Columbus. 
Sovereigns  of  the  twofold  reign, 
Rulers  of  my  heart  and  brain — 

Insane  Woman  {rushing  into  presence  of  sovereigns). 
Give  me  my  husband  back!     Give  him  to  me,  I  say! 
What  do  I  care  for  his  worlds  ?    He  took  ray  world  away ! 
What  is  your  praise  to  Heaven,  while  Heaven  your  cruelty  grieves? 
I  want  my  husband  back!     Give  him  to  me,  you  thieves! 
Oh,  shake  your  diamond  robes,  dazzle  my  eyes  as  you  may! 
Crown  this  foreigner -villain  that  takes  our  husbands  away! 
Yes,  he  has  brought  you  gold,  robbed  from  good  men's  lives ; 
Yes,  he  has  brought  you  Indians,  stolen  from  others'  wives ; 
Ingrate !  where  is  the  woman  who  loved  and  cherished  you  ?  ^ 
AYhy  do  you  keep  to  yourself  the  part  that  is  her  due? 

\She  is  dragged  away  hy  the  guards^  still  struggling 
and  screaming. 

Columbus. 
Sovereigns  of  the  twofold  reign, 
Rulers  of  my  heart  and  brain, 


48  City  Festivals. 

Dear  these  honors  are  to  me, 

Sweeter,  for  the  toil  and  danger, 

Than  I  found — unwelcome  stranger — 
On  the  wide,  mysterious  sea. 
Mariners  of  royal  life, 
You  who  sailed  the  waves  of  strife; 
You  who  pressed  the  camp's  rough  pillows, 
You  who  breasted  Avar's  red  billows, 
For  the  meed  of  sacred  fame. 
And  Christ's  holy  sacred  name, 
Now  in  heathen  lands  His  wraith 

In.  that  sepulchre  still  lies,^ 
'Mid  those  hordes  of  pagan  faith. 

Sad  and  suffering  are  His  eyes, 
Drooping  are  His  nail-scarred  hands; 
Can  you  hear  His  mild  commands? 
Can  you  hear  His  sacred  moans? 
"  I  am  not  among  my  own ; 
They  received  me  not  when  living, 

They  protect  me  not  when  dead. 
Must  I  suffer — still  forgiving — 

In  a  foeman- guarded  bed?" 
Sovereigns,  I  the  vow  have  made 

That  this  Western  march  of  mine 
Shall  be  first  of  a  crusade 

To  that  Eastern  tomb  divine. 
"When,  through  walls  of  darkest  night. 
First  I  saw  that  signal -light, 
When,  at  far  approach  of  day. 
Ere  the  starlight  sailed  away. 
There  amid  the  twilight  grand 
Loomed  the  longed-for  prize  of  land — 

{Enter   Rodkigo   de  Teiana,   a  mariner,  strugging 
through  the  guards. 

RoDRIGO. 

Give  me  my  velvet  doublet,  and  my  pension ! " 

Ferdinand. 
Hush,  mariner!  your  tongue  makes  scars  within 
Our  solemn  festival. 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  49 


RoDRiGo.  No  wonder,  king! 

This  Clirist  you  fight  for,  did  not  He  denounce 
Injustice?     Shall  this  Christless  Christian,  then, 
Pose  in  His  name?    'Twas  I  who  first  found  land! 
He  saw  a  light,  he  says,  in  the  black  west. 
Is  fire,  then,  land?     Or,  "'twas  a  fisherman. 
Whose  torch  arose  and  fell  upon  the  waves!" 
Is  a  boat  land?    Boats  are  for  lack  of  land. 
If  boats  are  land,  we  carried  land  with  us. 
Or  who  can  tell  what  boat  the  light  was  of? 
Perchance  some  other  member  of  our  fleet. 
"Why  should,  then,  this  white -polled  Italian  rogue — 
Laden  from  hold  to  deck  with  honors — try 
To  steal  a  sailor's  hammock?     Say  I  still. 
Give  me  ray  velvet  doublet  and  my  pension! 

Ferdinand. 
How's  this,  Columbus? 

Columbus.  Nothing  care  I,  King, 

For  doublet  or  for  pension ;  only  still 
To  hold  the  honor  first  t'  have  sighted  land. 

Isabella. 
But  one  admitted,  they  must  go  together. 

Columbus  [firmly). 
Then  I  claim  all. — 

RoDRIQO. 

And  lose  your  lie -gashed  soul.- 
Forger  of  log-books — swindler  of  your  crews — 
Wear  on  your  crest  an  honest  sailor's  curse! 
May  all  your  glory  rust  to  iron  chains 
That  drag  you  through  disgrace!     I  pray  to  God 
That  when  I  found  those  isles,  I  found  your  grave ! 
May  others  steal  your  credit  and  your  fame ! 
May  e'en  your  name  be  blotted  from  that  land 
You  claim  you  have  discovered !' 


50  City  Festivals. 

Ferdinand.  Guards,  he  raves; 

Tear  him  away. 

E.ODRIGO  {struggling  as  he  is  home  along). 
I'll  to  another  land, 
And  try  Mahomet's  justice.     Farewell,  thief! 

Columbus. 
Perchance  he  knows  where  still  are  other  worlds, 
And  can  lead  other  sailors  there,  as  I 
Led  him  to  that. 

Isabella. 

Mind  not  these  summer  clouds 
That  flit  before  your  glory.     You  shall  now 
Give  us  in  detail  all  that  you  have  seen 
In  yonder  land  of  wonders.     Who  comes  here? 

{Enter  First,  Second,  Third,  Fourth,  Fifth,  Sixth, 
and  Seventh  Scientists." 

First  Scientist. 

Grand  Confirmer  of  my  views, 
"Welcome,  with  thy  dazzling  news ! 

Second  Scientist. 

Learning's  true  and  valiant  knight, 
Well  I  knew  that  thou  wast  right! 

Third  Scientist. 

All  opposing  voice  be  stilled! 
My  predictions  are  fulfilled ! 

Fourth  Scientist. 

Heaven  in  mercy  hath  devised 
That  my  hopes  be  realized! 

Fifth  Scientist. 

Brother  of  our  learned  band^ 
Let  me  shake  thy  hardy  hand! 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  5 1 


Sixth  Scientist. 

What  can  courage  not  display, 
"When  we  scholars  lead  the  way? 

Seventh  Scientist. 

Tracer  of  our  well -mapped  sea, 
"We  must  give  you  a  degree! 


Deza. 


Scholars,  call  him,  if  you  please, 
Brave  Bewilderer  of  Degrees, 
Grand  Extinguisher  of  Schools, 
Taught  by  educated  fools ; . 
Give  Columbus  this  degree: 
Famous  Foe  of  Pedantry. 


Scene  III.,  a  humble  room  in  the  city  of  ValladoUd.     Columbus  dying.     He 
speaks  to  his  servant. 

Lift  me  down  softly — softly! — this  crushed  form 

Is  dying  old — old  even  beyond  its  years. 

Is  this  my  prayer-book?     I  have  grown  half -blind, 

Hunting  for  worlds.     Now  once  more  must  I  search 

And  find  my  future  home,  where,  maybe,  I 

Can  serve  beneath  a  king  who  will  be  just. 

My  breath  drags  anchor. — Ah !  and  so  the  Queen 

Has  abdicated  for  a  higher  throne. 

And  sleeps  on  beds  of  marble.     I  would  fain 

Have  kissed  once  more  that  warm  and  shapely  hand, 

And  drank  again  her  blue  eyes'  sympathy, 

And  felt  the  heart -help  of  her  soft,  sweet  voice. 

Christ  grant  we  heav'n  together!     Paradise 

Would  be  a  lonely  port  without  my  Queen. 

Ah,  Pain !  Pain !  Pain !  how  you  are  mocking  me  I 

Is  't  what  I  have  done  brings  'these  agonies, 

Or  good  left  undone?     Yes,  I've  much  of  both 

T'  account  for;  but  ray  steps  meant  to  be  true. 


52  City  Festivals. 

Ah !  'twas  a  glorious  dream — that  grand  crusade 
Westward — to  win  Christ's  Empire  in  the  East ! 
Th'  accomplishing  of  it  might  have  been  enough 
T'  have  saved  me  now  from  dying  poor — alone — 
Nor  son  nor  brother  near  me.     'Tis  my  fate; 
Whatever  Christ  ordains — that  be  my  fate ; 
It  may  be  'tis  for  needful  discipline : 
All  purgatories  are  not  after  death. 

Ah,  that  October  morning!     'Twas  a  life — 

'Twas  twenty — fifty — nay,  a  thousand  lives 

Of  days  and  nights  eventless — when,  behold, 

My  first  land  smiled  upon  me  from  the  West! 

It  was  a  fairy  dream  come  over-true ; 

It  was  a  score  of  prostrate,  plodding  j^ears 

Turned  upright  toward  the  skies!     It  was  my  word 

Shown  to  be  gold  'mong  the  black  dust  of  scorn 

That  covered  it  for  tedious  nights  and  days ! 

"  Land !  Land  !  Land !  Land  !"  the  happy  sailors  cried  : 

"  You  are  a  god !"  they  shouted :  "  You  tore  down 

The  key  to  Heaven's  far  secret !     You  are  blessed 

By  all  the  saints !"     They  crawled  and  kissed  my  feet ; 

They  begged  for  favors  in  my  new  domains ; 

They  prayed  for  pardons  of  past  mutinies; 

But  aU  that  was  as  nothing.     Came  a  voice. 

Out  of  some  unknown  regions  of  my  soul: 

"You  have  found  fame  that  ne'er  can  be  forgot  I 

You  are  the  greatest  conqueror  history  knows! 

A  new,  grand  kind  of  conqueror — one  who  finds 

The  lands  he  subjugates !" — My  God !  my  God ! 

WiU  nothing  still  this  pain?    It  murders  me! 

Then  my  return!     That  bright  land -voyage  from 

Seville  to  Barcelona!     Surging  waves 

Of  loud  applause  broke  swiftly  o'er  my  bark, 

And  gales  of  acclamation  swept  me  on. 

No  more  I  tossed  in  Poverty's  canoe ; 

My  land -cruise  was  a  fleet  of  brigantines, 

With  Victory's  flag  far  flowing  from  the  mast! 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  53 

Ah,  that  rich  April  day,  when  the  brave  Queen 

At  Barcelona  drew  me  to  her  throne! 

When  the  wool-comber's  tardily -honored  son 

Rode,  king -like,  through  the  flag- trimmed,  shouting  streets. 

Escorted  by  Spain's  grandest  cavaliers, 

Wherein  proud  generations  stored  their  blood — 

AVliereon  a  thousand  victory -jewels  gleamed! 

That  Avas  a  life — a  thousand  lives  in  one! 

My  painted  Indians  walked  along  the  street. 

Like  prisoners  in  a  Roman  triumph.     Though 

Some  tears  they  shed,  brewed  by  their  home -sick  hearts, 

Some  sighs  they  wafted  toward  the  dreamy  West, 

Some  pangs  they  suffered  for  their  absent  loves; 

'Twas  but  required  to  heap  my  glory  full; 

My  triumph's  throne  must  needs  foundation  find 

On  some  one's  woe  (all  earthly  honors  crush 

Beneath  their  feet  the  hopes  of  some  who  fail); 

Women  raved  at  me  for  their  husbands,  dead; 

(All  victories  flaunt  their  banners  over  graves!) 

Old  Rodrigo  deemed  he  discovered  first 

The  land  I  brought  him  to : — well,  every  prize 

Is  grudged  by  those  who  lose  it.     'Twas  too  sad 

To  see  the  poor,  sour,  disappointed  man 

Dive  to  the  depths  of  infidelity ! 

Better,  perhaps,  t'  have  given  him  the  boon. 

Than  see  him  lose  that  greatest  boon — his  soul ! 

My  second  voyage!     That  September  morn 

I  sailed  from  Cadiz !    No  more  humbleness ! 

How  they  all  fawned  upon  me  !     "  Here  he  comes !" 

The  great  Columbus !     Ah,  no  one  like  me ! 

I  was  an  angel!     (One,  be't  understood. 

That  could  endure  all  hardships  for  their  sakes, 

An  angel  with  earth -favors  he  could  grant.) 

I  walked  among  the  cringing,  common  clay, 

An  Alexander  without  stature's  lack, 

For  I  towered  head  and  shoulders  'bove  them  aU! 

How  like  a  sailor -king  I  looked  and  felt! 

'Twas  a  great  day !    And  even  then  there  came 


54  City  Festivals. 

(As  always  may — a  cloud  to  every  sky) 

A  bent  and  withered  crone  close  to  my  side, 

And  whispered  shrilly  upward  in  my  ear: 

"Give  credit  to  the  pilot  and  his  crew 

Who  lent  you  log  and  charts  at  Terceras; 

Then  died  within  your  house  and  told  no  tales!"" 

I  pushed  the  hag  away,  but  not  the  lie : 

It  clung  to  me,  and  formed  a  dingy  stain 

On  my  renown,  and  always  will  be  told. 

Heaven  rest  the  poor  old  pilot ;  I  even  had 

To  lend  him  charts  with  which  to  seek  for  heaven! 

How  little  did  he  think  to  mar  my  fame ! 

Ah,  that  sad  voyage  homeward,  decked  in  chains ! 
When  Bobadilla — proud,  religious  knave — 
Judge  and  attorney  both — condemning  me 
From  his  ship's  deck — before  he  reached  my  land ! 
Then,  Espinosa — menial,  scullion,  slave — 
A  creature  I  had  lifted  from  sad  depths — 
Hammered  the  fetters  on  my  storm -scarred  wrists. 
So,  with  such  jewels,  I  re-entered  Spain; 
So  different  from  the  glor}'^  -  spangled  day 
When  I  brought  back  an  empire  in  my  hands ! 
The  golden  age  of  my  career ! — and  this — 
The  grim  iron  age ;  yet  no  less  proud  was  I, 
Bearing  sore  envy's  heavy  metal  gibes. 
Than  its  unwilling  plaudits. 

Then  those  years 
Through  which  I  tarried  to  have  justice  done; 
Nor  lingered  in  the  anteroom  of  sloth 
(Waiting,  with  idleness,  breeds  agony). 
But  sailed  for  other  crowns  to  give  my  Queen. 
Even  my  old  age  toiled  for  this  land  of  Spain 
(Adopted  by  me — rich -brained  foreigner — 
And  left  a  legacy  of  priceless  worth) 
As  faithful  as  my  prime.     Oh,  how  they  surge 
And  dash  against  my  memory's  dreary  shore —    - 
Tjiose  days  and  nights  of  age -resisted  toil! 
Days  that  I  should  have  passed  in  glorious  ease, 


Festivals  of  the  Nation.  55 

Nights  that  I  should  have  slept  on  silken  beds, 
Surrounded  by  the  splendors  I  had  earned. 

And  here  I  die,  attended  by  no  crowd 

Of  waiting  messengers,  to  tell  the  world 

That  it  has  lost  a  hero.     Well,  'tis  well ! 

I  perish  here  as  poor  as  I  was  born ; 

But  so  do  all.     The  grave  is  Death's  frontier, 

Impassable ;  and  even  if  'twere  not, 

The  living  seize  the  wealth  of  th'  dying  ones. 

A  worthless,  poor  old  mariner  I  die ; 

And  so  do  all;  launching  on  unknown  seas. 

And  landing  where — they  can  but  only  hope. 

With  all  earth's  living  heroes  far  from  me, 

I  die;  and  still  cannot  forego  to  think 

That  great  discoveries  may  make  glad  this  voyage. 

Of  such  as  each  soul  must  make  for  itself ; 

That  all  the  sailors  of  that  farther  shore 

Will  meet  me  when  I  land,  and  hail  me  chief.  \He  dies. 

{Enter  the  sj^irits  of  Freedom  and  Peogkess. 

Spieit  of  Feeedom. 

Thou  who  foundst  the  free-born  West, 
Enter,  strong,  free  soul,  to  rest. 
Thou  hast  opened  wide  the  door 
Into  refuge  evermore. 
Of  those  who,  with  longings  high, 
Cringe  beneath  an  eastern  sky. 
Thou  shalt  always  honored  be. 
By  the  Empire  of  the  Free : 
By  that  land  across  the  main, 
Which  will  far  out  -  dazzle  Spain  ; 
Which,  within  the  centuries  bright, 
That  shall  follow  these  of  night. 
Will  disperse  its  beams  afar. 
As  sometimes  the  morning -star 
Sheds  an  earth -detected  ray 
In  the  glaring  Summer  day. 
Rest,  thou  search -light  of  the  sea. 
Homeward  thou  didst  guide  the  free! 


56  City  Festivals. 

Spirit  of  Progress. 

Hero,  rest,  but  not  for  long : 
All  the  brave  and  true  and  strong 
Who  possess  the  Hidden  Land, 
Soon  will  come  to  press  thy  hand. 
Thou  hadst  flaws :  thy  gleaming  brain 
Bore  some  rust  from  Error's  chain; 
Thy  fault  -  flecked  but  generous  heart 
From  earth  -  passions  could  not  part ; 
But  if  ever  pain  and  grief 
Out  of  glory  snatched  relief, 
If  the  quarried  gold  can  shine 
When  uncovered  in  the  mine, 
If  the  darkness  can  take  flight 
When  appears  the  morning  light, 
All  thy  woes  shall  be  redressed, 
Patient  Finder  of  the  West; 
All  thy  earth-born  faults  condoned, 
Though  by  cavillers  bemoaned ; 
Thy  wrongs  shall  be  made  a  theme 

Of  the  true  historian's  choice, 
And  the  poet's  waking  dream. 

And  the  marble's  silent  voice. 
When  that  late -born  western  land 
Shall  be  rich  and  great  and  grand, 
It  will  show  its  treasures  vast — 

It  will  celebrate  its  fame — 
With  a  pageant  unsurpassed — 

Bearing  thy  illustrious  name." 
Long  as  Humankind  believe 
That  'tis  duty  to  achieve; 
Long  as  Faith  can  struggle  free 
For  what  she  cannot  yet  see ; 
Long  as  Toil  aspires  to  gain 
Glory  from  fatigue  and  pain; 
Long  as  Earth  keeps  on  its  way, 
Marching,  marching  every  day. 
The  Columbus  still  shall  not 
Be  neglected  or  forgot. 


FESTIVAL  OF  THE  JOLLY  CLERGYMEN. 


iTcstuml  of  t[)c  Sollg   dlergBinen. 

They  met  on  Saturday,  its  night — 

A  jolly  club  of  prosperous  preachers — 

Who  knew  that  merriment  was  right, 
In  all  its  non- abhorrent  features; 

Who  did  not  think  one's  meed  of  grace 

Depended  on  his  length  of  face ; 

Who  laughed  and  wept  with  swinging  rhymes, 

And  talked  of  merry,  rough  old  times; 

And  roasted  many  a  queer  lay -brother, 

And  cracked  sly  jokelets  on  each  other] 

In  short,  did  everything  inside 

A  proper  ministerial  pride. 

To  get  them  into  fluent  vein, 

And  rest  them  for  the  Sunday  strain. 

One  night,  half  silently,  these  men 

The  past  and  present  were  comparing; 

Mused  how  much  better  now  than  then. 
The  couriers  of  the  Lord  were  faring; 

How  large  the  salary  and  the  fee, 

Compared  to  what  they  used  to  be; 

How  far  their  present  clothes  surpassed 

The  ones  they  long  aside  had  cast ; 

How  much  more  freely  bread -and -meat 

Exposed  itself  for  them  to  eat ; 

How  rich  to-day  their  church  -  bells'  chimes, 

Compared  to  those  of  olden  times; 

This,  with  no  vanity  of  head. 

But  thankfulness  of  heart  instead. 


6o  City  Festivals. 

And  oft  they  thought  of  precious  hours: 

The  calms  they'd  fouglit,  the  tempests  weathered 

"While  in  their  hearts  they'd  pressed  the  flowers 
In  country  wastes  and  gardens  gathered; 

And  some  who  had  not  known  the  joy 

Of  being  in  humble  folks'  employ, 

And  had  not  had  the  discipline 

Of  those  who  destitute  had  been, 

Themselves  were  happy  to  avail 

Of  many  a  heart -instructive  tale, 

With  listening  ears  and  honest  eyes, 

And  power  to  deeply  sympathize ; 

In  short,  this  Club's  doors  did  not  pass 

A  single  ministerial  ass. 

And  oft  they  thought  of  those  who  now 
Within  unstreeted  fields  were  striving, 

With  yearning  heart  and  aching  brow. 

And  pay  that  scarce  involved  surviving; 

Of  those  who  press  the  bloody  sands 

And  jungled  fields  of  heathen  lands ; 

Of  those  whose  work  is  worldly -drear, 

Upon  the  thorny -ground  frontier; 

Of  those  whom  age  and  helplessness 

Have  thrown  in  idle-houred  distress; 

Of  those  who  toil  in  places  low 

As  some  where  Christ  was  wont  to  go; 

Ere  ceased  this  subject  to  prevail, 

A  brother  told  the  following  tale: 


ELDER  LAMBS  DONATION. 

Good  old  Elder  Lamb  had  labored  for  a  thousand  nights  and  da\'s, 
And  had  preached  the  blessed  Gospel  in  a  multitude  of  wa^'s; 
Had  received  a  message  dailv  over  Faith's  celestial  wire, 
And  had  kept  his  little  chapel  full  of  flames  of  heavenly  fire ; 
He  had  raised  a  numerous  family,  straight  and  sturdy  as  he  could, 
And  his  boys  were  all  considered  most  unnaturally  good ; 


Festival  of  the  Jolly  Clergymen.  6i 

And  his  slender  salary  kept  him,  till  went  forth  the  proclamation, 
"Let  us  pay  him  up,  this  season,  with  a  generous,  large  donation." 

So  they  brought  him  hay,  and  barley,  and  some  corn  upon  the  ear, 

Also  straw  enough  to  bed  a  livery -stable  for  a  year; 

And  they  strewed  him  with  potatoes  of  inconsequential  size. 

And  some  onions,  whose  completeness  drew  tlie  moisture  to  his  eyes ; 

And  some  cider — more  like  water,  in  an  inventory  strict — 

And   some   apples,  pears,  and  peaches,  that  the   autumn   gales   had 

picked ; 
And  some  strings  of  dried -up  apples  —  mummies  of  the  fruit  crea- 
tion— 
Went  to  swell  the  doleful  chorus  of  old  Elder  Lamb's  donation. 

Also  radishes  and  turnips  pressed  the  pumpkin's  cheerful  cheek ; 
Likewise,  beans  enough  to  furnish  half  of  Boston  for  a  week; 
And  some  eggs,  whose  inner  nature  bore  the  legend,  "  Long  ago," 
And  some  butter  that  was  worthy  to  have  Samson  for  a  foe; 
And  some  stove -wood,  green  and  crooked,  on  his   flower-beds  was 

laid. 
Fit  to  furnish  fire  departments  with  the  most  substantial  aid. 
All  things  unappreciated  found  this  night  their  true  vocation. 
In  that  great  museum  of  relics,  known  as  Elder  Lamb's  donation. 

There  were  biscuits  whose  material  was  their  own  secure  defence; 

There  were  sauces  whose  acuteness  bore  the  sad  pluperfect  tense; 

There  were  jellies  quaintly  flavored,  there  were  mystery -laden  pies; 

There  was  bread  that  long  had  waited  for  the  signal  to  arise; 

There  were  cookies,  tasting  clearly  of  the  dim  and  misty  past; 

There  were  doughnuts  that  in  justice  'mongst  the  metals  might  be 
classed ; 

There  were  chickens,  geese,  and  turkeys,  that  had  long  been  on  pro- 
bation, 

Now  received  in  full  connection,  at  old  Elder  Lamb's  donation! 

Then  they  brought  liis  wife  a  wrapper,  made  for  some  one  not  so  tall, 
And  they  gave  him  twenty  slippers,  every  one  of  which  was  small ; 
And  they  covered  him  with  sackcloth,  as  it  were,  in  various  bits. 
And  they  clothed  his  helpless  cliildren  in  a  wardrobe  of  misfits. 


62  City  Festivals. 

And  they  trimmed  his  house  with  "  Welcome !"  and  some  brie  Ji-brac- 

ish  trash — 
And  one  absent-minded  brother  brought  five  dollars,  all  in  cash! 
Which  the  good  old  pastor  handled  with  a  thrill  of  exultation, 
Wishing  that  in  filthy  lucre  might  have  come  his  whole  donation ! 

Morning  broke  at  last  in  splendor;  but  the  Elder,  bowed  in  gloom, 
Knelt  amid  decaying  produce  and  the  ruins  of  his  home. 
But  his  piety  had  never  till  that  morning  shone  so  bright. 
For  he  prayed  for  those  who'd  brought  him  to  that  unexpected  plight ; 
But  some  worldly  thoughts  intruded :  for  he  wondered,  o'er  and  o'er, 
If  they'd  buy  that  day  at  auction  w^hat  the\''  gave  the  night  before. 
And  his  fervent  prayer  concluded  w4th  the  natural  exclamation, 
"Take  me  to  Thyself  in  grace,  O  Lord,  before  my  next  donation!" 


And  once,  the  conversation's  scope 
Took  in  those  pastors  w^ho,  desiring 

To  do  more  than  they  ought  to  hope. 
Were  less  effective  than  aspiring; 

Whose  plans  so  loomed  and  roared  and  glared, 

With  their  ability  compared. 

As  to  remain  in  dust  and  doubt, 

Unable  to  be  carried  out. — 

Ilhistrating,  with  much  thought -gain. 

Religious  matters  with  profane. 

And  seeing  the  fact,  through  great  and  small, 

That  all  things  may  resemble  all, 

A  clergyman,  sedate  and  old, 

The  following  short,  true  story  told: 

McFLTJFFEY'S   CAXOE. 

My  boatman  laughed  loud  at  a  man  on  the  shore. 
With  habiliments  proud  and  assurance  galore. 
And  a  manner  that  sought  the  idea  to  convey. 
That  he  maybe  had  bought  the  whole  river  that  day : 
Said  my  shrewd  Irish  lad,  as  a  droll  glance  he  threw% 
"  He  remoinds  me,  bedad,  of  McFluffey's  canoe. 


Festival  of  the  Jolly  Clergymen.  65 

"  Oh,  McFluffey  was  '  there '  in  compethitive  sail : 

He  could  show  his  back  hair  in  the  calm  or  the  gale; 

He  was  absent  upon  any  shpot  but  firrst  place, 

Till  he  enthered  the  John  J.  O'Flanigan  race: 

Which  it  tore  him  all  down,  an'  then  shwept  him  up,  too, 

Wid  some  frinds,  who  now  frown  on  McFluffey's  canoe. 

"  For  he'd  said,  '  Oi'll  hew  out  a  new  craft,  loike  as  not, 
That  '11  prance  all  about  every  craft  yez  have  got; 
An'  her  patthern  Oi'll  kape  to  mesilf — good  or  bad— 
For  the  crayture  Oi'll  shape  in  me  cellar,  bedad; 
Oi'll  be  makher,  desoigner,  an'  captain  an'  crew — 
There'll  not  be  a  foiner  'n  McFluflfey's  canoe.' 

"So  this  promisin'  craft  in  his  cellar  he  shaped. 

An'  he  chuckled  and  laughed,  an'  he  pounded  and  schraped; 

An'  his  dhry  dock  was  wet  wid  the  shmell  of  ould  gin, 

But  we  never  could  get  us  a  pull  to  go  In. 

An'  he  says,  '  Cork  yer  eyes  till  the  proper  toime,  you, 

An'  ye'll  have  a  surprise  wid  McFluffey's  canoe!' 

"An'  the  race -day  did  lind  a  fair  breeze  an'  broight  sun. 

An'  we  backed  our  ould  frind  about  twinty  to  one ; 

An'  we  pitied  the  fate  of  the  others  afloat. 

An'  shouted,  'Just  wait  for  McFluffey's  new  boat!' 

An'  he  says,  '  She's  as  staunch  as  me  frinds  are,  an'  true ; 

So  shtep  down  an'  hilp  launch  ould  McFluffey's  canoe !' 

"An'  we  shouted,  'All  right!'  an'  went  down  wid  glad  grin. 

An'  we  pushed  our  sails  tight  wid  a  pull  at  the  gin ; 

An'  the  boat  shtood  there  fresh,  all  as  shwate  as  could  be ; 

Oh,  a  first-class  professional  beauty  was  she! 

An'  his  shwateheart  had  sewed  a  green  flag,  trimmed  wid  blue, 

An'  her  name  had  bestowed  on  McFluffey's  canoe! 

"An'  we  lifted  her  clane  on  our  shoulders,  in  pairs — 

The  boat,  sure,  I  mane — and  descended  up -stairs; 

But  the  boat  was  too  great,  sure — the  door  was  too  shmall — 

We  couldn't  get  the  crayture  evicted,  at  all! 


66  City  Festivals, 

Kot  a  door  could  be  shlammed  that  the  chraft  would  sail  through, 
An'  we  shtood  there  becalmed  with  Mc Fluff ey's  canoe! 

" '  Saw  the  floor !  smash  the  wall !  blow  the  roof  off !'  he  cried : 
But  nothing  at  all  would  admit  her  outside ; 
An'  Mac  swelled  up  in  girth,  an'  blasphamed  himsilf  sick. 
An'  then  pmyed  for  an  earthquake  to  come,  an'  be  quick ! 
Shtone  an'  brick  would  not  moind  it,  whate'er  we  moight  do ; 
An'  the  race  lift  behoind  it  McFluffey's  canoe! 

"An'  his  shwateheart  the  shock  drove  wid  rage  most  insane, 

An'  she  shtamped  through  the  dock,  when  he  thried  to  explain; 

An'  she  said,  'Look -a -there!'  wid  the  rage  in  her  face, 

'  The  Bridget  0'' Flaherty' 8  winnin'  my  race ! 

You  decaivin'  ould  elf!'  an'  her  words  fairly  flew; 

'Now  be  off  wid  yerself,  an'  yer  dirthy  canoe!' 

"Kow  whin  a  man  brings  me  a  high-moighty  sound 
Concernin'  some  things  he  is  goin'  to  bring  round, 
An'  thanks  his  good  stars  he  is  winnin'  the  day, 
Forgettin'  the  bars  that  men  find  in  their  way, 
I  says,  wid  sh''  laughter,  '  Yer  pride  yez  may  rue : 
Yer  a-modellin'  afther  McFluffey's  canoe!' 

"An'  when  a  man  linds  all  his  plans  to  himself. 
An'  lays  all  his  frinds  for  a  while  on  the  shelf. 
An'  thinks  he  knows  twice  what  there  is  to  be  known, 
An'  the  outside  advice  will  be  lettin'  alone, 
I  says,  'If  j'^er  pride  to  a  point  yez  don't  hew, 
Ye'll  be  takin'  a  ride  in  McFluffey's  canoe!'" 


And  soon  the  Club  were  blithe  of  tongue, 

"With  marital  congratulation, 
For  one  of  them,  who'd  lately  sprung 

Into  a  bridegroom's  happy  station; 
And  various  nuggets  of  advice 
Were  coined  in  precepts  smooth  and  nice; 


Festival  of  the  Jolly  Clergymen.  67 

And  now  and  then  a  waminff  word 
From  sages  celibate  was  heard ; 
And  several  instances  were  cited 
Where  those  who  had  been  so  united, 
Had  lived  together  very  well 
(As  if  'twere  something  strange  to  tell); 
And  one  good  brother  amplified 
This  story  of  a  pastor's  bride: 


ELDER  PETTIGREW'S  HELPMEET. 

Elder  Pettigrew  was  married  on  the  fifteenth  of  July, 
And  some  sixteen  jealous  maidens  let  their  disappointment  fly; 
And  some  seventeen  other  maidens  scorned  to  give  their  sorrow  air, 
And  some  eighteen  other  maidens  laughed,  and  said  they  didn't  care ; 
And  some  nineteen  other  maidens  felt  the  fact  come  rather  near, 
For  the  Elder's  face  was  handsome,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  cheer. 

And  his  older  friends  were  sorry  he  had  done  as  he  had  done, 
For  tlie  bride  was  young  and  little,  and  retiring  as  a  nun ; 
To  be  sure,  her  face  was  comely;  still,  she  wasn't  much  to  see, 
And  they  had  their  own  opinion  what  a  pastor's  bride  should  be. 
And  they  said,  "  Lone-handed  pastors  ought  to  search,  and  search,  and 

search. 
Till  they  get  a  proper  partner  that  can  help  them  run  the  church." 

And  she  closed  her  eyes  devoutly,  or  looked  down  upon  the  floor. 
When  the  fateful  fact  was  mentioned  that  her  maiden  days  were  o'er ; 
And  her  voice  was  just  a  flutter,  and  her  answering  timid -low ; 
Even  her  would-be  rivals  pitied,  that  she  had  to  tremble  so; 
But  when  once  the  fact  was  stated  that  she  was  the  pastor's  wife, 
She  glanced  round  upon  the  people,  with  a  newish  lease  of  life. 

And  the  next  day  in  the  morning,  from  her  new-found  social  perch 

She  began  to  help  the  preacher  to  reorganize  the  church; 

For  she  called  upon  the  sisters,  with  a  look  of  brooding  care. 

And  reformed  the  sewing -circle  into  quite  a  new  affair; 

And  she  called  upon  the  Deacons,  with  a  smile  that  never  ceased, 

And  requested  that  the  salary  of  her  husband  be  increased; 


68  City  Festivals. 

x\nd  she  never  missed  an  effort,  till  she  laid  the  old  choir  waste, 
And  discharged  the  ones  whose  voices  did  not  satisfy  her  taste; 
And  she  straightway  formed  a  new  one,  full  of  singers  of  her  choice, 
And  became  herself  the  leader,  more  by  gesture  than  by  voice ; 
And  permitted  no  flirtations  at  such  times  when  she  was  nigh, 
For  she  held  them  all  in  bondage  by  the  glimmer  of  her  eye; 

And  the  Sunday-school  and  missions  glided  under  her  control. 

And  she  made  investigation  of  the  state  of  every  soul; 

And  the  charities  were  also  reconstructed  by  her  hand, 

No  withholding  ever  prospering,  that  evaded  her  command ; 

And  the  rich  were  asked  assistance  for  the  causes  of  her  choosing, 

In  a  manner  that  they  somehow  had  no  method  of  refusing ; 

And  the  sermons  got  to  sounding  (or,  by  Fancy's  logic  bid. 
Several  of  the  congregation  thought  they  knew  they  thought  they  did)^ 
Quite  as  if  they  were  constructed  on  a  new  and  f em' nine  plan. 
And  a  stern  appeal  for  Woman,  as  against  the  tyrant  Man. 
And  the  folks  looked  at  each  other,  with  their  faces  new -forlorn, 
Whispering  low,  "  She  writes  his  sermons,  just  as  sure  as  you  are 
born !" 

And  one  day  her  husband's  larynx  was  not  wholly  in  repair, 
And  she  coolly  took  the  pulpit,  with  a  firmly  modest  air ; 
And  proceeding  with  a  sermon,  with  determined  look,  though  sad. 
She  discoursed  a  great  deal  better  than  her  husband  ever  had. 
Then  the  people  looked  and  wondered,  and  inquired,  "  What  shall  we 

do? 
For  the  one  that  gets  no  salary,  is  the  smarter  of  the  two!" 

Till  at  last,  one  day,  the  places  that  had  known  her  ceased  to  know, 
And  the  parsonage  was  darkened,  and  the  people  whispered  low. 
There  had  come  a  wailing  couple  from  The  Land  where  All  Begins, 
And  their  naming  was  elaborate,  but  the  people  called  them  "  Twins ;" 
And  the  lady  abdicated  from  her  sacerdotal  throne. 
And  suggested  to  her  husband  that  he  run  the  church  alone. 

And  amid  the  smiles  and  sorrows  of  the  following  twenty  years. 
Came  some  fifteen  other  children  to  the  land  of  smiles  and  tears; 


AND  ONE   DAY  HER  HUSBAND'S  LARYNX  WAS  NOT  WHOLLY  IN  REPAIR." 


Festival  of  the  Jolly  Clergymen.  7 1 

And  the  manse's  mistress  gave  up  all  her  managerial  goals, 
And  devoted  strict  attention  to  her  children's  precious  souls ; 
And  remarked  to  wondering  neighbors,  not  to  be  misunderstood, 
"  She  who  starts  her  children  heavenward,  works  as  God  desires  she 
should." 

And  her  sons  proved  mostly  preachers,  shedding  goodness  all  their 

lives. 
And  her  daughters  "joined  the  movement"  by  becoming  preachers' 

wives ; 
And  though  not  the  brightest  day-star  that  his  Conference  ever  knew, 
Never-ceasing  good  resulted,  thus,  from  Elder  Pettigrew; 
And  the  modest  little  woman  (leastways,  everybody  said  it) 
Was  entitled  to  some  ninety-nine  one  -  hundredths  of  the  credit. 


The}^  closed  at  midnight  with  a  song 
From  Kev.  Thomas  Thompson  Thomas, 

Whose  voice  was  sweet,  as  well  as  strong, 
With  well  developed  mines  of  promise; 

Whose  tones  could  make  the  rafters  ring, 

And  coax  the  walls  themselves  to  sing; 

Elicit  sympathetic  tears, 

Or  fill  the  room  with  laughs  and  cheers; 

Whose  manner  had  magnetic  thrills 

That  fashioned  nerves  unto  their  wills; 

Whose  heart,  while  touring  with  his  voice, 

Made  others  suffer  or  rejoice ; 

So,  Avliile  the  clock  for  midnight  rang. 

The  singing  preacher  sweetly  sang: 

HYMN-SERMOK 
Text:  "Safely  throusli  (mother  week." 

Seven  days'  dangers  passed  us  by: 
Perils  strewn  from  earth  to  sky ; 
Clouds  within  whose  chambers  deep 
Fire  and  flood  together  sleep; 


72  City  Festivals. 

Air  in  ambush,  which,  set  free, 
Mjght  a  cyclone -panther  be; 
Earthquakes  in  the  reahns  below, 
Prowling  fiercely  to  and  fro ; 
Sickness  that,  with  stealth}^  tread, 
Brought  the  grave  its  hapless  dead; 
So  the  words  in  song  we  speak: 
"  Safely  through  another  week." 

Who  could  sail  without  the  waves  ? 

Who  could  breathe  without  the  air? 
Men  were  only  walking  graves — 

But  that  God  is  everywhere. 
Stars  that  travel,  fast  or  slow, 

Through  the  countries  of  the  sky. 
On  His  errands  come  and  go — 

With  His  viewless  wings  they  fly. 
Each  true  spirit  is  a  star 

Fed  by  one  Eternal  Ray; 
So  the  words  we  sing  afar : 

"God  has  brought  us  on  our  way." 

Lo  the  diamond — metal  sun! 
And  by  toil  and  pain  'twas  won. 
Learning:  comes  the  world  to  bless — 
It  was  purchased  with  distress. 
See  a  fame  in  glory  rise ! 
It  was  bought  with  sacrifice. 
Feel  a  love  that  passeth  thought ! 
But  it  did  not  come  unbought. 
With  exertion  and  desire, 
Souls  must  clamber  and  aspire; 
So  we  sing,  in  accents  meek : 
"Let  us  all  a  blessing  seek." 


o 


Did  you  view  the  morning  rise? 

To  the  eye  a  wondrous  feast! 
Precious  stones  bestrewed  the  skies — 

Heaven's  own  gate  hung  in  the  east. 


Festival  of  the  Jolly  Clergymen. 

Can  you  see  the  mountains  grand? 

Do  you  hear  the  robin  sing^ 
Worship,  O  my  soul!  you  stand 

In  a  palace  of  the  King! 
Splendor  lurks  in  every  spot 

Of  this  Sabbath  morn's  display : 
Fellow  -  singers,  are  we  not 

"Waiting  in  His  courts  to-day?" 

You  whose  life -webs  weigh  like  lead, 
Weave  to-day  a  golden  thread; 
You  who  bend  'neath  labor's  rod, 
Bow  this  day  to  none  but  God ; 
You  who  toil  for  Learning's  goal, 
Eead  to-day  your  child's  sweet  soul; 
You  whose  heart  is  doomed  to  bear 
Sorrow,  shame,  and  needless  care. 
Come,  to-day,  and  lay  them  prone 
On  the  white  steps  of  the  Throne. 
Properly  is  this  confessed : 
"Day  of  all  the  week  the  best." 

Do  not  lie  in  slumber's  thrall, 

You  who  would  with  heaven  rise; 
Do  not  let  'midst  rubbish  fall 

This  gold  ladder  to  the  skies. 
You  must  join  the  child -like  throng 

Yearning  for  a  Father's  love; 
You  must  help  to  make  the  song 

That  is  waited  for  above. 
Toil,  that  others  you  may  see 

By  the  powers  of  goodness  blessed; 
Then  your  Sunday -life  will  be 

"Emblem  of  Eternal  Rest." 


A  FESTIVAL  OF  THE  SKY  CLUB. 


:a  St5txml  of  t\]t  0ku  Club. 

The  Sky  Club  was  a  small  association. 

Of  men  retired  from  lofty  navigation, 

To  join  which  none  need  cultivate  pretensions, 

"Who  had  not  made  at  least  thirteen  ascensions. 

This  club,  who,  half  their  lives,  with  clouds  were  floating, 
And  through  air -waves  had,  so  to  speak,  been  boating, 
Now  crawled  about,  with  hands  and  feet  to  aid  them, 
As  Nature  meant,  when  wingless  first  she  made  them. 
One  had  one  good  arm,  but  it  was  the  only ; 
Another's  leg  had  many  years  walked  lonely ; 
And  almost  all  bore  some  eraseless  markings 
Attendant  on  aerial  disembarkings. 

The  emblems  of  this  club  were  simple,  very, 
And  made  unthinking  minds  unduly  merry : 
A  rooster,  sheep,  and  duck,  of  lofty  manners, 
Comprised  the  heraldry  upon  their  banners 
(The  first -named  animals  that  history  mentions 
That  were  addicted  to  balloon  ascensions, 
Before  men  made  of  fear  so  great  a  stranger 
That  they  themselves  incurred  aerial  danger) ; 
Their  walls  bore  prints  of  men  of  every  nation 
Who'd  overcome  the  curse  of  gravitation : 
Of  Daedalus,  ingenious  artist-Grecian — 
Who  made  him  Avings,  with  wax  their  sole  cohesion ; 
Escaped  Crete's  monarch's  rage  -  compounded  virus, 
And  flew  to  Sicily  (upon  papyrus); 
6 


78  City  Festivals. 

Of  Icarus,  his  son,  who  started  nicely 

Equipped,  it  seems,  with  similar  wings  precisely ; 

But  making,  for  ambition  or  diversion, 

A  sunward  trip — a  little  branch  excursion — 

Found  that  the  sun  of  wing- wax  was  a  melter, 

And  dropped  into  the  ocean,  helter-skelter; 

Of  old  Archytas,  who  made,  with  much  trying, 

A  pigeon  out  of  wood,  and  set  it  flying 

(Which  should  have  less  in  webs  of  wonder  wound  us, 

Than  genuine  live  ones  floating  all  around  us) ; 

Of  Koger  Bacon,  who  by  book  suggested 

That  lofty  navigation  should  be  tested ; 

Thought  we  could  sail,  with  proper  means  and  motion, 

Top  of  the  air,  the  same  as  of-  the  ocean ; 

And,  daring  sceptic  earth-worms  to  deny  it, 

AVas  sagely  anxious  some  one  else  should  try  it; 

Of  those  French  aeronauts,  Montgolfier  Brothers, 

Who  also  left  their  goings  up  to  others; 

But  over  these,  and  twice  as  large,  were  staring 
Rozier  and  Arlandes,  who,  with  new  daring, 
In  the  hushed  sight  of  curious,  breathless  legions. 
First  travelled  up  to  hyper -mundane  regions ; 
And  Blanchard,  who  scored  sixty  good  ascensions, 
Then  died  in  bed,  with  purse  of  poor  pretensions; 
Of  Mrs.  B.,  his  wife,  who,  metal -sinewed. 
Her  husband's  business  at  th'  old  stand  continued : 
Fired  rockets  off  while  in  the  air  suspended, 
Caught  fire  herself,  and  like  a  stick  descended ; 
Of  young  Guerin,  the  little  French  boy -peasant, 
Who,  being  at  a  balloon -landing  present. 
The  flying  bag,  with  its  hooked  anchor,  fished  for. 
Gave  him  as  high  a  time  as  boy  e'er  wished  for; 
Clung  to  his  waistbands,  until  fame  it  earned  him, 
Then  gently  to  his  parents'  arms  returned  him 
(Well  known  he  is  to  balloon  history -browsers. 
This  lad  of  tender  years  and  sturdy  trousers) ; 
Of  Thurston,  who,  his  balloon  sudden  starting 
A  second  trip,  when  from  its  basket  parting. 


A  Festival  of  the  Sky  Club.  79 

Feared  loss  of  what  was  costly  in  the  getting, 
And  risked  his  life,  and  sprang  into  the  netting; 
And,  as  the  sailor  by  his  life -raft  lingers, 
Clung,  until  Death  unclasped  his  freezing  fingers; 
Of  Donaldson,  who  thought  to  spurn  the  ocean, 
But  found  Lake  Michigan  a  fatal  potion ; 
Of  Hogan,  who,  a  new-made  air -ship  trying, 
Straightway  into  eternity  went  flying; 
'  And  many  others.  Memory  does  not  mention, 

Secured  this  club's  pictorial  attention. 

This  club,  whose  zeal  no  cloak  of  age  could  smother, 

Were  very  interesting  to  each  other; 

For  all  with  strange,  adventurous  deeds  were  swelling, 

AVhich  pained  them  till  divested  of  by  telling; 

And  he  who'd  make  five  dollars  contribution 

(Which  went  to  aeronauts  in  destitution) 

Could  tell  a  tale  of  half  an  hour's  duration, 

And  three  miles  high ;  this  was  the  limitation. 

And  he  before  correction's  bar  Avas  cited. 

Who  went  to  sleep  before  the  man  alighted. 

One  winter  night  the  chilly  blast  was  crooning 
Fierce  odes  against  the  science  of  ballooning. 
And  all  out- doors  with  frosty  burrs  was  bristling. 
And  loud  the  witches  of  the  air  were  whistling. 
And  snow- squalls  tried  the  windows  till  they  trembled. 
The  club  within  their  sanctum  were  assembled. 
And  one  old  sky -dog,  having  bought  attention. 
Achieved  the  following  narrative -ascension: 

THE  CHILD-THIEF. 

'Twas  one  fourth  day  of  July, 

With  a  deep  blue,  far-off  sky, 
And  some  north-east  vapor  -  castles,  built  symmetrical  and  high; 

And  two  small  clouds,  just  a  mile 

Right  above  us,  seemed  to  smile. 
As  to  say,  "  Come  up,  poor  earthlings,  here,  and  visit  us  a  while." 


8o  City  Festivals. 

And  the  air  was  still  and  clear; 

You  could  see  and  you  could  hear 
Every  little  thing  that  happened,  if  the  same  was  far  or  near; 

And  a  crowd  was  standing  by, 

With  investigating  eye, 
To  assist  in  ray  departure  for  the  regions  of  the  sky. 

I  had  filled  my  new  balloon 

Middle  of  the  afternoon 
(For  it's  never  best  to  get  off  un professionally  soon); 

And  she  started  like  a  queen 

From  the  little  village  green, 
And  went  up,  and  up,  and  upward,  straight  as  ever  you  have  seen ! 

'Twas  a  picture,  I  declare, 

Rising  through  the  summer  fair, 
Making  for  those  pretty  cloudlets,  like  two  islands  in  the  air; 

And  the  earth  began  to  seem 

Like  a  distant,  misty  dream, 
Full  of  farms  and  lakes  and  cities,  and  the  river -silver -gleam; 

And  at  last  a  current -gale 

Struck  my  stately  silken  sail. 
And  I  voyaged  off  to  eastward,  over  mountain,  hill,  and  vale, 

Till  I  couldn't  but  understand 

That  a  down-trip  must  be  planned; 
Though  I  came  by  air,  a -flying,  I  must  travel  back  by  land ! 

Then  I  got  myself  in  shape. 

And  I  pulled  the  air -escape. 
And  my  anchor  through  a  forest  'gan  to  hitch  and  pull  and  scrape, 

Till  it  caught  an  oaken  knot 

In  a  little  forest  lot. 
And  I  found  that  I  had  landed  in  a  very  lonely  spot. 

Just  a  cabin -hovel  nigh, 
Not  a  single  person  by ; 
'Twas  the  loneliest  bit  of  forest  a  balloonist  could  espy; 


'and  my  love  and  pity  clasped  her,  and  I  COULD  NOT  LEAVE  HEK  THERE. 


A  Festival  of  the  Sky  Club.  Z}, 

And  my  nose  wasn't  over -fond 
Of  a  little,  stagnant  pond, 
And  wherever  glance  could  wander,  rose  the  forest  just  beyond ; 

But  a  handsome  little  girl. 

With  her  blue  eyes  all  awhirl. 
And  her  trim  head  ornamented  by  .full  man}"-  a  golden  curl, 

From  the  hut  came  running  out, 

With  a  little,  bird -like  shout, 
And  embraced  and  kissed  me,  'fore  I  quite  knew  what  she  was  about ; 

"Oh,  I  knew  you'd  come,"  she  said, 

"  From  the  country  overhead. 
Where  my  mamma  went  to  visit  when  they  told  me  she  was  dead ; 

For  I  prayed  by  day  and  night,  , 

And  then  hoped  witli  all  my  might. 
She  would  send  some  one  to  take  me  into  happiness  and  light! 

"  Since  my  uncle  went  away 

To  the  'Independence  Day,' 
I  have  knelt  here,  and  done  nothing  but  just  pray  and  pray  and  pray ; 

And  I've  been  expecting  you 

All  the  afternoon,  for  true, 
Though  I  didn't  suppose  you'd  get  here  just  before  the  prayer  was 
through !" 

Then  she  showed  me  marks  to  spare 

Of  hard  blows  and  cruel  fare, 
And  my  love  and  pity  clasped  her,  and  I  could  not  leave  her  there ; 

I  stopped  kissing  her,  to  say, 

"I'm  not  going  to  heaven  to-day, 
And  I  don't  believe  that  you  will;  but  I'll  start  you,  anyway." 

And  I  drew  her  to  me  nigh. 

And  pulled  up  my  anchor,  spry. 
And  threw  out  some  bags  of  ballast,  and  we  sprang  up  toward  the  sky ; 

And  she  showed  no  sign  of  fright. 

But  went  off  to  sleep  all  right. 
And  was  sailing  up  in  Dreamland,  when  we  landed,  just  at  night. 


84  City  Festivals. 

And  I  took  a  truthful  plan, 

"When  the  kidnapping  began, 
And  announced  myself  no  angel,  but  a  coarse  and  faulty  man ; 

But  she  said  she  understood. 

And  she  knew  that  I  was  good ; 
That  her  mother  sent  me  for  her,  as  she  always  knew  she  would. 

And  her  uncle  never  knew 

Where  his  little  birdling  flew, 
Though  I  don't  suppose  he  hunted  more'n  a  century  or  two; 

Didn't  suspect  that  from  above 

I  swooped  down  upon  his  dove. 
And  took  off  the  little  orphan  that  he  hadn't  the  sense  to  love. 

This  sweet  bit  of  ballast,  she 

Since  has  lived  along  with  me. 
And  has  loved  me  like  a  daughter,  far  as  I  could  feel  and  see; 

And  if  ever  I  can  rise 

Past  the  clouds,  to  Paradise, 
It  will  be  because  that  darling  steers  my  soul  into  the  skies. 


The  Club  absorbed  this  fragment  of  narration, 
With  mild  and  rather  frosty  approbation; 
Tiiough  now  and  then  an  old  balloonist  listened 
With  ears  that  heard,  and  eager  eyes  that  glistened ; 
For  pure  love,  in  its  ever -blessed  mission. 
Strikes  some  old  sinners'  hearts  with  strange  precision. 
But  most  of  them,  polite  attention  feigning, 
Found  this  mild  tale  not  over  -  entertaining ; 
They  wanted  things  unsafer  and  more  thrilling — 
Some  sudden  death,  or  close  escape  from  killing; 
And  a  young  man  the  story -fee  then  tendered. 
And  this  sad  tale  of  love  and  death  was  rendered: 

A  LEAP  FOR  LOVE. 

A  great  balloon  hung  in  the  city  park. 
Swelling  and  swaying  with  unconscious  strength. 


A  Festival  of  the  Sky  Club.  85 

Grandly  coquetting  with  the  gentle  breeze, 
Then  tugging  at  its  leashes,  with  desire 
To  leap  upon  the  clouds.     A  pleasure  -  throng 
Struggled,  and  laughed,  and  waited  for  two  souls 
That  soon  would  enter  on  a  marriage  tour, 
In  this  strange  wedding- car. 

And  now  there  walked 
Down  a  long  lane,  flesh -walled  with  living  forms, 
A  bride  and  groom.     Her  classic -moulded  face 
Bore  eyes  half  tender  and  half  daring;  as 
Perchance  the  honess  Maid  of  Arc  possessed. 
Her  wedding -gown  was  costless;  but  it  gleamed 
With  the  ne'er -stolen  jewel  of  good  taste; 
And  the  hushed  crowd  gazed  on  her  with  respect. 

The  groom  was  strong  and  manly.     Though  his  face 
Clasped  not  the  gift  of  beauty,  yet  it  bore 
The  grander  badge  of  manliness  and  brain. 

Silence  crept  downward  from  the  sky ;  and  soon, 
A  man  of  God  joined  this  adventuring  two. 
Whose  souls  already  clasped.     Then  to  the  throng. 
He  pictured  how  the  brave,  determined  pair 
Were  taking  this  strange  flight,  to  win  the  means. 
From  those  whose  hands  controlled  the  enterprise. 
To  launch  their  wedded  life  in  prosperous  seas. 
At  this  the  crowd  cheered  cheerily,  and  threw  gifts; 
And  with  proud  smiles,  'mid  bows  of  courtesy. 
The  pair  embarked  on  their  quaint  wedding- tour. 

The  strands  were  cut ;  the  buoyant  engine  climbed 
Ladders  of  air;  a  chorus  of  hurrahs 
Followed  it,  far  as  human  voice  could  fly ; 
The  silver  sax- horns  sung  the  Wedding  March, 
Which  journeyed  gayly  with  the  wedded  pair ; 
Glad  church -bells  swelled  the  stream  of  melody. 

But  soon  were  pierced  the  white  walls  of  a  cloud; 
The  wedded  ones  rose  in  the  sun's  clear  light, 
And  found  themselves  alone,  clasped  hand  in  hand. 


86  City  Festivals. 

An  hour  they  flew  through  the  love -lighted  air, 

In  converse  close;  past  struggles  -were  recalled, 

To  make  more  pure  their  present  happiness ; 

They  sundered  seemed  from  every  earthly  care, 

And  felt  as  they  had  naught  to  do,  but  float 

Forever  through  wide  spaces,  hand  in  hand, 

And  heart  in  heart ;  it  seemed  as  if  a  world 

Between  the  worlds — 'twixt  heaven  and  earth — were  made 

Into  a  new  exclusive  heaven  for  them, 

"Where  they  could  live  and  love  for  evermore. 

But  when  the  sun  began  to  seek  the  sea, 

They  knew  that  earthly  life  must  re -begin; 

He  pulled  the  strand  of  rope  that  touched  the  valve. 

Swift  outward  rushed  the  fluid  that  had  borne 

Them  toward  the  sky — rushed  farther  toward  the  sky ; 

And  downward  sank  the  weight- borne  bridal  car, 

And  do^vIlward  sank  the  love  -  bewildered  pair. 

The  earth  began  to  show  its  form  once  more, 

And  the  sweet  idyl  of  the  air  must  end. 

Still  outward  rushed  the  fluid  that  had  borne 
Them  toward  the  sky— rushed  farther  toward  the  sky ; 
Still  downward  dashed  the  earth  -  desired  balloon; 
Still  downward  sank  the  f  ear  -  be wildered  pair. 
They  strove  to  stop  the  valve,  but  'twas  in  vain ! 
Some  carelessness  had  plotted  well  with  Death; 
Earth  was  a  grave,  fast  rushing  up  to  them! 

He  flung  the  bags  of  ballast  from  the  car; 
He  threw  the  outer  garments  they  had  worn ; 
He  threw  all  weight  that  could  be  cut  apart; 
But  it  was  vain :  still  to  the  earth  they  rushed — 
A  falling  star  of  love  and  happiness ! 

At  last,  with  intuition,  born  of  thought, 
And  past  experience,  he  divined  the  truth : 
That  but  for  his  own  weight,  the  falling  mass 
"Would  flutter,  with  no  shock,  unto  the  earth. 


A  Festival  of  the  Sky  Club.  87 

He  clasped  the  bride  a  moment  to  his  breast, 
And  Avhispered :  "  I  have  promised  to  protect 
And  shield  you  from  all  harm — ev^en  unto  death; 
My  death  means  life  for  you ;  and  here  it  is." 

He  kissed  her  lips,  her  brovN'^,  her  eyes,  her  hands, 
Then,  without  time  for  a  detaining  word, 
Torn  from  her  wild,  beseeching,  fainting  grasp. 
Sprang  into  the  airy  gulf. 

Slowly  she  fell — 
A  pulseless  form ;  but  landed  without  hurt, 
And  walked  for  him  in  weeds  for  evermore. 


The  Sky  Club  heard  this  very  sad  recital, 

With  a  display  of  pity  almost  vital ; 

And  scarcely  three  through  Dreamland  had  been  soaring, 

When  it  was  done,  and  only  one  was  snoring. 

The  Club  gave  these  men.  (for  its  own  protection) 

The  regular  pecuniary  correction ; 

Then  for  another  story  calmly  waited. 

At  the  established  price  already  stated. 

Kot  long;  these  proofs  of  Heaven's  aerial  mercies 
(Especially  the  ones  with  well -filled  purses). 
Told  several  times,  each  one,  the  self -same  story 
(Not  disconnected  with  the  teller's  glory). 
And  to  reduce  the  cost  were  never  trying, 
Although,  as  one  might  say,  at  wholesale  buying. 
(Indeed,  they  always  fined  a  f ellow  -  rover, 
Who  told  the  same  tale  more  than  three  times  over.) 

Soon  rose  a  member  with  appearance  youthful, 

But  whose  unnumbered  scars  pronounced  him  truthful, 

And  for  the  second  time  began  recalling 

A  reminiscence  of  stupendous  falling. 

When,  self -announced,  without  a  moment's  warning. 

An  old  man  entered,  salutation  scorning, 

Fastened  the  door  as  tight  as  bolt  could  lock  it, 

Retired  the  precious  key  into  his  pocket, 


88  City  Festivals. 

Then,  on  th'  assembled  people  fiercely  glaring, 
With  small  regard  for  their  indignant  staring. 
As  there  they  sat,  hot  disapproval  swallowing, 
In  feeble  tones  he  shouted  forth  the  following: 


FLIGHT  OF  THE  AGED  BALLOONIST. 

Ton  younger  men,  who  loudly  sing 
Old  marvels  night  and  day, 

!Now,  listen  while  to  you  I  bring 
Wise  words  from  far  away. 

In  yonder  castle  is  ray  den : 

I  dwell  a  hermit  there, 
Amid  a  lot  of  crazy  men, 

O'er  whom  I  watch  and  care. 

These  crazy  men,  some  of  them,  too, 
Deem  they  do  watch  o'er  me; 

I  let  them  think  that  thus  they  do, 
So  quiet  they  may  be. 

I  let  them  guard  me  through  the  day, 

I  do  as  they  have  said ; 
These  doctor -maniacs  have  their  way, 

Till  I  be  safe  in  bed. 

And  then — so  soft  and  still  I  rise! 

I  spurn  this  planet's  ground ; 
My  air -ship  sails  me  to  the  skies. 

Where  flocks  of  stars  abound. 

To  tell  you  of  the  world  of  lune, 
Would  take  from  youth  to  prime : 

Last  night  I  came  back  from  the  moon 
My  fifty -second  time. 


And  there  I  found  a  curious  race. 
Who,  when  a  man  doth  fall, 


A  Festival  of  the  Sky  Chid.  89 

Toil  hard  to  bring  hira  back  to  place, 
Nor  trample  bini  at  all. 

Of  Mars  I  have  some  tales  to  spare, 

Scant  credence  though  you  give: 
The  men  who  toil  the  hardest,  there. 

Most  sumptuously  do  live. 

"Word  of  what  I  in  Saturn  saw, 

Belief  too  seldom  gains: 
The  people  there  who  go  to  law, 

Get  justice  for  their  pains. 

In  Jupiter  the  man  race  are, 

Howe'er  by  wealth  adorned, 
"Whene'er  they  fall  from  Virtue's  car, 

The  same  as  woman  scorned. 

In  JN'eptune  I  a  story^  gat 

Few  earthlings  would  indorse : 
Men  treat  their  bodies  well  as  that 

Of  any  blooded  horse. 

In  Venus  is  a  sing'lar  race, 

Who  so  acuteness  lack, 
They  say  the  same  things  to  one's  face, 

They  would  behind  his  back. 

In  Mercury  a  lady  lives, 

So  to  unselfness  given. 
She  asks  no  pay  for  wyhat  she  gives, 

Not  even  a  crown  in  heaven. 

In  Uranus,  last  night,  I  heard 

Of  men  the  same  as  I, 
Who  ne'er  with  look  or  deed  or  word 

Told  any  one  a  lie. 

Within  the  nearest  fixed  star — 


go  City  Festivals. 

At  this  the  Sky  Club  made  concerted  motions, 
Grappled  the  poor  old  peddler  of  high  notions, 
Fished  out  the  key  from  his  coarse,  ragged  pocket, 
And  fired  him  from  the  club -room  like  a  rocket. 

But  lo!   a  new  young  man,  with  aspect  tragic, 
Came  through  the  same  door,  like  a  trick  of  magic; 
Two  large  revolvers  in  his  hands  were  glistening, 
"Wherefore  the  Club  began  respectful  listening. 

A  young  balloonist  of  more  sense  than  reason, 

"Who  "  went  up "  every  day  throughout  the  season ; 

And,  far  from  earth,  by  baskets  unobstructed, 

A  miniature  circus  of  his  own  constructed; 

And  though  in  air  well  balanced,  agile,  ready. 

On  terra  firma  he  was  most  unsteady; 

AVhich  fact  was  not  entirely  disconnected 

"With  bibulous  methods,  which  his  face  reflected. 

He'd  never  wished  to  join  the  Sky  Club's  numbers, 

And  take  part  in  their  stories  and  their  slumbers; 

But  loved,  in  slight  fits  of  inebriation. 

To  burst  in,  bringing  thrills  of  consternation. 

He  told  of  sundry  new  achievements  clever. 

Of  the  high  calling  thej'^  had  left  forever; 

The  many  feats  he  had  performed,  though  youthful, 

All  voiced  in  words  unqualifiedly  truthful ; 

He  told  of  things  these  veterans,  ere  exempted 

From  all  attempts,  had  never  once  attempted ; 

Of  mounting  up  and  sailing  through  the  breezes. 

Hung,  not  to  baskets,  but  to  frail  trapezes ; 

Of  summersaults,  handsprings,  etc.,  turning, 

"While  earth  and  all  such  trivial  matters  spurning; 

Of  parachutes,  to  which,  with  vigor  clinging, 

He  came  down  like  a  skylark  from  its  singing; 

And  more  things,  calculated  to  make  jealous 

Some  helplessly  conservative  old  fellows. 

At  last  a  scarred  balloonist  faced  the  stranger, 
In  spite  of  imminent  projectile  danger, 


A  Festival  of  the  Sky  Club.  91 

And,  with  a  look  profoundly  analytic, 

Assumed  the  sombre  functions  of  a  critic, 

And  said :  "  This  upstart  's  one  of  the  possessors 

Of  ways  un vouched  for  by  his  predecessors! 

The  idea  of  an  artist  young  's  pursuing 

Things  different  from  the  things  we  have  been  doing  I 

His  feats  are  new,  and  therefore  inartistic. 

And  worthy  no  attention  eulogistic. 

And  'mid  our  walls,  which  helplessly  enclose  him_, 

I  do  hereby  for  membership  propose  him ; 

And  to  suspend  the  rules,  so  's  to  begin  it — 

Our  voting  for  him — in  about  a  minute ; 

And  with  blackballs,  t'  increase  the  information 

Of  this  young  jackanapes  of  innovation." 

The  o'er  ambitious  youth,  with  breath  suspended, 
This  solemn  voting  with  wide  eyes  attended ; 
Saw  himself  from  a  company  rejected, 
To  which  he'd  never  wished  to  be  elected ; 
It  was  a  thing  that  staggered  his  reflection — 
This  cold,  unasked -for  process  of  rejection; 
The  weight  of  precedence  upon  him  bearing, 
Depressed  his  spirits  and  destroyed  his  daring; 
He  soon  sustained  a  low,  crushed,  humbled  feeling, 
And  crept  out,  as  if  he  had  been  caught  stealing; 
His  body  and  his  spirit  both  benighted. 
And  feeling-  that  his  whole  career  was  blighted. 

The  Club  then  stretched,  and  yawned,  and  stretched — each  vieing 

With  all  the  others,  in  relief -charged  sighing; 

]\rade  fast  the  door,  by  chairs  and  tables  aided, 

As  tightly  as  it  could  be  barricaded; 

And  went  on,  harvesting  the  regular  glories 

Of  the  old-fashioned  balloon -basket  stories. 


THE  FESTIVAL  OF  THE  FREAKS. 


®l)e  jTestbal  of  tt)e  JTreaks." 

Scene,  the  main  hall  of  a  large  "  Dime  Miiseumy  Some  space  has  been 
cleared  for  tables,  and  at  the  close  of  a  particularly/  good  day's  business, 
the  freaks  are  enjoying  themselves  at  a  supper  given  by  the  now -and -then 
liberal  manager.  N^oises  of  street -cars  and  pedestrians  heard  faintly 
%cithout.  Queer  things  stare  at  th^m  from  the  cases  on  the  walls — curios- 
ities staring  at  curiosities. 


Peoprietor. 


Lecturer. 


EverythiDg  snugged  up  for  night? 


All  the  sights  are  out  of  sight: 
Mammoth  curiosities, 
Miniature  monstrosities, 
Things  that  sly  old  Nature  made. 
When  in  the  constructing  trade 
She  grew  tired,  as  one  might  say, 
Forming  similar  things  each  day. 
And — with  Fancy's  sudden  aid — 
Fixed  one  up  a  different  way; 
All  the  whim -shaped  quadrupeds. 
All  the  calves  with  surplus  heads, 
All  the  plural -bodied  lambs, 
All  the  man-invented  shams; 
Things  she  double  made,  or  half. 
When  she  wished  a  little  laugh ; 


All  the  things  that  thrill  so  much, 
From  great  peoples'  look  and  touch : 
Bricks  from  near  where  they  were  born. 
Clothes  they've  maybe  some  time  worn; 


g6  City  Festivals. 

Chairs  their  regal  forms  did  hold; 
Canes  they  lugged  around  when  old; 
Cradles  of  their  helplessness; 
Beds  they've  slept  in  more  or  less; 

All  the  things  that  meet  our  views, 
Of  the  toys  that  robbers  use : 
Slung-shot,  nipper,  jimmy,  drill, 
Blades  whose  edges  yearned  to  kill ; 
False  keys,  bilUes,  metal- fists. 
Bracelets,  forged  for  graceless  wrists; 
Saws,  that  tore  some  robber's  way 
From  night -prisons  into  day; 
Pistols,  which  in  unfair  strife 
Robbed  some  half -waked  man  of  life; 
Locked  up  safely — all  these  nice 
Curiosities  of  vice. 


Proprietor. 


Lecturer. 


Snakes  been  housed  and  grcJomed  and  fed? 


All  our  pets  are  safe  abed. 
Coiled,  the  pictured  rattlesnake. 
Crawling  weapon  demons  make. 
To  augment  the  world's  distress: 
Foe  of  timid  helplessness — 
Open  poisoner  of  his  foes — 
Magazine  of  deadly  blows. 
Now  he  rests,  with  savage  grace, 
In  a  comrade's  cold  embrace. 
Still,  the  boa's  loathsome  length. 
Who,  a  chain  of  yielding  strength. 
Binds  his  prey  to  deathly  doom, 
Then  becomes  his  living  tomb. 
Closed,  the  viper's  brilliant  eyes — 
Maybe  dreaming,  as  he  lies. 
Of  old  savage  poisonous  times, 
In  the  sultry  Eastern  climes. 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks, 

Safe  are  all  these  foes,  designed. 
As  the  good  friends  of  mankind, 
Till,  with  purpose  bad  and  deep, 
Satan  found  their  sire  asleep. 


97 


Pkoprietok. 


Lecturee. 


Larger  grows  the  list  that  you're 
Yet  unable  to  procure? 


Yes;  a  man  who  never  yet 
Uncontrolled  temptation  met; 
And  a  woman  who  has  never 
Made  uncelibate  endeav^or; 
And  a  hero  who  has  not 
Borne  some  envy -furnished  blot; 
And  a  rich  man  who  has  never 
Found  a  beggar  over -clever; 
And  a  youth  who  never  sought 
More  attention  than  he  ought ; 
And  a  saint  who  ne'er  has  been 
Thinking  how  nice  'twere  to  sin ; 
And  a  mortal  who  admission 
Never  gained  to  superstition. 


Propeietok. 


Then  shall  be  our  banquet  spread ; 
Then  the  living  freaks  be  fed ; 
Business  ne'er  has  been  so  good 
Since  this  wonder -temple  stood; 
Lucre -floods  a  week  or  more 
Have  been  surging  through  our  door — 
Just  as  should  be,  when,  with  care, 
All  the  realms  of  earth  and  air 
Have  been  searched  for  what  they  owe 
To  a  first-class  moral  show. 
Set  the  tables,  pour  the  wine ! 
All  expense  to-night  is  mine. 


9  8  City  Festivals, 

Flood  the  rooms  with  song  and  light; 
Care  a  curio  be  to-night! 
For  one  eve  we'll  happy  be; 
AU  expense  shaU  fall  on  me! 

Lectuker  {aside). 

Well,  the  boss  struck  a  streak 
Like  he  hasn't  for  many  a  week : 
He's  to-night  his  greatest  freak! 
Ne'ertheless  my  work,  life  through 
Still,  must  be  to  help  him  do 
What  he  thinks  he  wishes  to. 


Scene  IL,  a  weU-spread  table,  covered  with  culinary  debris,  a)id  surrounded 
with  queer-looking  people,  of  various  colors,  sizes,  and  weights.  Proprie- 
tor at  head  of  the  table. 


Pkopkietok, 


First  we'll  have  a  little  song 
From  a  veteran  freak,  who  long 
Up  and  down  the  country  went, 
With  a  museum  side-show  tent. 
From  the  waving  woods  of  Maine 
To  the  sultry  Texas  plain ; 
From  Atlantic  billows  cold, 
To  the  western  Gate  of  Gold; 
While  the  circus  raved  and  roared 
To  augment  its  treasure -hoard, 
Making,  with  its  giddy  swirl, 
The  spectators'  heads  to  whirl, 
And  with  giddy  thoughts  affected, 
With  all  wisdom  disconnected, 
He,  apologist  of  lore. 
In  his  tent's  half -open  door. 
Stood,  and,  with  an  eloquence 
Ciceronic  and  intense, 
Begged  the  crowd  to  come  inside, 
Where,  in  pages  opened  wide, 


d  o 

a  a 

o  - 

O  M 

o  S 

Xl  00 

>  i 

o  ^ 

>5 

a  2 

O 

tt  - 
o 
f 
o 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  loi 

Nature's  wondrous  curio -books 
Would  reward  their  eager  looks, 
And  would  give — by  tact  designed — 
True  instruction  to  the  mind. 


SONG  OF   THE  SIDE -SHOWMAN. 

Oh,  I  am  a  showman  old, 

And  I  am  a  showman  bold; 
I  stand  outdoor  an  hour  or  more, 
And  point  with  pride  to  the  things  inside, 
As  I  beseech,  in  eloquent  speech, 
That  the  crowd  will  see  what  things  there  be 
Of  those  that  stay  in  the  far  away. 
And  not  forget  Instruction's  debt: 
They  laugh  at  me,  and  they  chaff  at  me. 
And  I  pay  them  back  with  the  sudden  crack 
Of  the  lash  of  a  Avord;  and  if  they're  stirred 

To  give  me  a  fistic  stroke 

In  pay  for  ray  little  joke, 

"Hey,  Reub!"     Hey,  Reub!    Hey,  Eeub!"  says  I; 
They  come  from  far  an'  they  come  from  nigh. 
"Hey,  Eeub!     Hey,  Reub!     Hey,  Reub!"  reply, 
An'  each  for  each  is  ready  to  die. 

Oh,  I  am  a  showman  old. 

Uncommonly  large  and  bold! 
I  stand  outside  with  a  gesture  wide, 
And  speak  up  loud  to  the  credulous  crowd, 
And  tell  wliat  we  desire  'em  to  see, 
And  maybe  cut  orf  an  inch  o'  the  dwarf 
And  add  some  lies  to  the  giant's  size, 
And  teU  in  what  part  of  Australia's  heart 
Was  the  wild  boy  born  we  caught  one  morn 
With  his  woolly  head  in  a  Kansas  bed! 
The  whole  o'  the  truth  I've  told  from  youth, 
Whatever  betides,  and  more  besides! 


I02  City  Festivals. 

An'  ever  if  unbelief 

Is  apt  to  bring  me  grief, 

"  Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !"  says  I ; 
They  come  from  far  an'  they  come  from  nigh. 
"  Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !"  reply, 
An'  each  is  ready  for  each  to  die. 

Oh,  I  am  a  showman  old ; 

Perhaps  you  never  was  told 
Concerning  the  row  I  sing  of  now, 
A-circusin'  late  in  Texas  State : 
Kight  in  the  crowd  a  fellow  allowed 
That  cousin  to  me  was  the  Chimpanzee. 
I  took  a  shy  at  his  nearmost  eye, 
An'  down  he  went  like  an  (t^g  in  Lent ! 
His  friends  laid  out  to  knock  us  about. 
But  'twasn't  a  go — this  whippin'  a  show ; 
"We  cleared  'em  up,  like  flies  in  a  cup — 
I'd  almost  bet  some  lie  there  yet ! 

There  wasn't  a  minute  to  spare 

'Fore  all  our  crowd  wag  there ! 

"  Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !"  says  I ; 
They  come  from  far  an'  they  come  from  nigh. 
"  Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !     Hey,  Keub !"  they  cry, 
An'  each  was  ready  for  each  to  die. 

Pkopkietor. 

Here's  a  toast  which  I  would  give: 
Long  may  aU  the  short  folks  live! 
Just  a  little  room  they  take. 
But  a  noise  in  th'  world  they  make. 
Who  should  take  this  toast  to-night, 
But  our  freaklet,  General  Slight? 

Indian  Chief  {aside). 

Why  did  pale-faced  squaw  let  loose 
Kound  here  her  old -man  pappoose? 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  103 

THE  DWARF'S  RESPONSK 

Reason  that  I'm  here  to-night 

No  one  here  can  help  but  know; 
Plain  to  all  discerning  sight : 

Didn't  grow. 
Some  who  overgrew  are  here, 
Some  whose  growth  developed  queer; 
Some  that  grew  themselves  in  ways 
That  from  business  stand -point  pays; 
All  my  charms  are  negative ; 

How  I've  grieved  the  fact  was  sot 
Though  I  just  made  out  to  live — 

Didn't  grow. 

Ate  as  much  as  any  child, 

Climbed  and  tumbled  high  and  low; 
Still  my  friends  in  pity  smiled — 

Didn't  grow. 
"He  will  take  a  start  next  year," 
Mother  said,  with  half  a  tear; 
Father  growled,  "  Beyond  a  doubt. 
Have  to  knead  and  stretch  him  out.'* 
(Being  a  baker,  he  compared 

Body,  if  not  head,  to  dough.) 
Still  the  people  downward  stared — 

Didn't  grow! 

Went  to  school  and  joined  my  class — 

Toed  a  crack  and  joined  a  row; 
Teacher  croaked  (the  grim  old  ass): 

"Couldn't  you  grow?" 
Tried  to  join  in  sports  and  games — 
Never  got  beyond  their  names. 
Though  ten  winters  I  could  see, 
Four -year -olds  would  bully  me; 
Stretched  and  ate,  and  o'er  and  o'er 

Swelled,  frog -like,  but 't  wouldn't  go; 
More  I  undertook,  the  more 

Didn't  grow. 


I04  City  Festivals. 

Fell  in  love — as  who  has  not, 

"With  love  flitting  to  and  fro? 
But  the  same's  a  dreary  lot, 

Till  you  grow. 
Daily  had  to  stand  and  see 
Angel  skyward  creep  from  me ; 
Smiling  on  me  from  on  high. 
Pity  in  her  distant  eye; 
Begged  of  her  to  wait  a  while 

Ere  she  took  another  beau ; 
Answered,  with  a  pitying  smile, 

"  Darling,  grow !" 

So  the  world  kept  leaving  me; 

Till  folks  said,  "Why  don't  you  grow 
Up  from  small  to  greatest ;  see  ? 

Join  a  show." 
Kow  I  find  that  people  pay 
To  see  what  they  spurned  away; 
Now  I  think  my  purse  would  buy 
Some  who  towered  above  me  high ; 
She  who  "  sacked  "  me  as  a  lad, 

Now's  ray  dearest,  tallest  foe ; 
Married  me,  and  says  she's  glad 

Didn't  grow.  [Suldiied  applause. 


Proprietor. 


Here  looms  a  giant,  eight  feet  long, 
Appropriately  mild  and  strong. 
Scorch  with  thy  burning  tongue  the  toast: 
"Honor  to  him  who  grows  the  most!" 

The  Giant  withdraws  his  feet  from  a  position  some- 
where on  the  other  side  of  the  tahle,  unpaclis  his 
legs,  stretches  gradually  toward  the  ceiling,  steps 
hack  two  or  three  feet,  frowns  fiercely  upon  the 
company,  and  proceeds,  in  a  thin,  piping  voice : 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  105 

THE  GIANT'S  STORY. 

The  giant  business  isn't  the  thing  at  all 
It  used  to  be  when  I  was  somewhat  small; 
It's  overdone,  like  every  honest  labor, 
For  any  one  an  inch  above  his  neighbor. 
Tries  hard  to  stretch  to  revenue -drawing  length, 
And  coin  up  all  his  surplus  into  strength. 
"  Don't  try  it "  is  three  words  of  good  advice ; 
A  giant  earns  his  living  over  twice! 

We  have  to  stand  and  let  the  gaping  crowd 
Stare  like  a  clock,  and  think  of  us  out  loud. 
And  ask  us  questions  'bout  ourselves,  till  I 
For  one,  am  almost  half  -  inclined  to  lie! 
They  grin  us  down  with  manners  unrestrained. 
Like  as  they  would  an  elephant  that's  chained; 
And  every  similar  way  they  try  to  guide  us, 
Except  to  feed  us  peanuts  and  to  ride  us. 

They  ask  us  if  the  bulk  in  us  they  see, 

Descended  to  us  with  our  pedigree; 

If  when  we're  sick  we  suffer  greater -wise 

Than  people  of  the  regulation  size ; 

How  much  per  day  or  week  our  landlords  charge; 

If  all  our  family  are  likewise  large ; 

Being  five  times  heavier  than  most  human  earth. 

If  we  weighed  forty -five  pounds  at  our  birth; 

And  other  things,  which,  like  domestic  strife. 

Look  better  in  the  depths  of  private  life. 

They  make  of  every  day  a  burden  fresh, 

A  hundred  times  as  weighty  as  our  flesh. 

They  watch  us  when  we  walk  to  get  the  air. 
The  shouting  kids  pursue  us  everywhere; 
They  ask  us  if  we  still  are  growing  tall ; 
How  it  affects  things  round  us  when  we  fall; 
They  play  us  tricks  of  different  size  and  shape, 
Then,  dodging  deftly  'twixt  our  legs,  escape ; 


io6  City  Festivals. 

They  ask  is  our  maternal  friend  aware 
That  we  have  stepped  into  the  open  air; 
And  so  we  inconvenient  hours  must  keep, 
And  walk  at  night,  like  people  in  their  sleep. 

But  one  of  us,  I  always  recollect, 

"Who  made  all  people  treat  her  with  respect ; 

Her  waist  was  fully  fifteen  feet  around, 

Her  exhibition -weight  six  hundred  pound. 

And  her  home -heft,  unpadded  and  sincere, 

"Would  crowd  five  hundred,  pretty  middling  near. 

Though  any  chair  she  used,  couldn't  have  a  more 

Unpaying  contract  than  to  guard  the  floor, 

You  never  saw  a  form  with  willing  grace, 

You  never  saw  a  classic -moulded  face. 

You  never  saw  a  dame  of  high  degree, 

"With  any  more  true  dignity  than  she; 

There's  only  one  man  who,  I  ever  heard, 

Had  cheek  to  give  her  an  uncivil  word ; 

And  he  ('tis  hard  that  matters  should  go  on  so) 

"Was  just  the  person  that  should  not  have  done  so. 

I  loved  her — ain't  ashamed  to  say  it  now ; 
She  didn't  me — God  bless  her,  anyhow ! 
She  had  more  solid  sunshine  in  her  eye, 
Than  I've  discovered  so  far  in  the  sky ; 
She  held  more  information  in  her  looks, 
Than  ever  I  have  found  in  all  the  books ; 
She  had  more  sj'^mpathy  in  voice  and  touch, 
Than  many  folks  who  weighed  a  fifth  as  much ! 

I  loved  her — ain't  ashamed  to  say  it  now ; 

She  didn't  me — God  bless  her,  anyhow ! 

Perhaps  she  thought  that  happiness  Avouldn't  seek 

A  family  that  contained  too  much  physique ; 

Perhaps  she  let  sweet  pity  get  the  start. 

And  found  her  judgment  cornered  by  her  heart ; 

I  won't  decide ;  I  only  know  she  strewed 

Her  young  affections  on  a  skeleton  dude. 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  107 

(I  came  near,  in  the  midst  of  my  dejection, 
To  breaking  every  bone  in  his  collection!) 

Heaven  help  her,  then !  he  just  let  fly  his  growth, 
And  made  her  earn  a  living  for  them  both ! 
He  took  to  drinking,  with  enthusiasm  fresh. 
And  didn't  take  any  pains  to  curb  his  flesh ; 
And  bigger  every  day  he  steady  grew. 
Until  he  hadn't  a  single  rib  in  view 
(Except  his  wife;  and  she'd  grown  thin  and  gray 
If  business  matters  hadn't  stood  in  the  way). 

IN'ow  each  new  pound  of  meat  the  scamp  displayed, 
"Was  so  much  money  chipped  off  from  his  trade; 
Each  inch  diminished  his  professional  art, 
And  piled  lead  in  the  poor  fat  lady's  heart. 
And  she'd  have  pined  away,  she  was  so  blue. 
If  only  she  could  have  afforded  to. 

Of  course,  the  meaner  that  the  scamp  became, 
The  more  she  loved  him  (they  are  all  the  same, 
Little  or  big),  and  he  put  up  some  new 
Mean  specialty  for  every  breath  he  drew ; 
And  soon  became,  as  any  one  could  see, 
A  large  museum  of  what  he  shouldn't  be. 


'o^ 


Heaven  help  her,  then !  it's  hard  enough,  I  know, 

For  light -built  folks  to  stand  up  under  woe; 

But  'tisn't  every  one  that  has  to  bear 

Five  hundred  pounds  of  sorrow,  in  a  chair. 

It  weighed  upon  my  sweet  and  scornful  friend. 

Until  the  floor -planks  almost  seemed  to  bend; 

But  if  true  pity  could  have  brought  her  round. 

She  wouldn't  have  tipped  the  scales  at  twenty  pound. 

Still,  she  in  her  own  manner  pined  away. 

And  grew  a  little  heavier  every  day. 

This  dude  dove  into  every  sort  of  sin. 
And  lined  his  skeleton  outside  and  in; 


io8  City  Festivals. 

Supported  by  his  wife's  industrious  toil — 

Oh,  the  scamp's  coolness  fairly  made  me  boil! 

It's  very  hard  for  any  man  that's  human, 

To  see  another  man  abuse  a  woman ; 

But  awful  hard  his  righteous  rage  to  smother. 

It's,  when  he  hates  the  one  and  loves  the  other ! 

Till  finally,  one  day,  I  spied  a  mark 

Upon  her  neck — all  swollen  'twas  and  dark ; 

And  then  I  saw  her  sweet  and  mournful  eyes 

Were  swelled  with  tears  to  half  their  usual  size 

(And  her  face  being  too  large  for  actual  need. 

It  made  the  eyes  look  very  small,  indeed) ; 

And  then  I  knew,  what  galls  me  in  repeating : 

He'd  given  his  angel  wife  a  first-class  beating; 

He'd  struck  and  kicked  her — fiends  in  fury  lodge  him ! — 

And  she,  being  somewhat  bulky,  couldn't  dodge  him ! 

Murder  was  out ;  and  nothing  that  could  screen  it — 

I  saw  it  all  as  plain  as  if  I'd  seen  it ! 

And  next  time  he  nipped  past  my  standing -station, 

Strutting  as  if  he  owned  the  whole  creation. 

And  the  museum,  and  all  the  freaks  there  were — 

Especially  the  body  and  soul  of  her — 

The  hot  steam  of  my  hate  grew  so  much  stronger, 

I  couldn't  endure  the  pressure  any  longer; 

I  collared  him,  spite  of  his  puny  groans. 

And  nearly  shook  the  new  flesh  off  his  bones. 

It  made  an  interesting  war -excitement. 

Although  the  dude  fool  did  not  know  what  fight  meant; 

He  limbered  in — the  little  coward  elf — 

As  if  I  was  old  giant  Despair  himself; 

His  heels  flew  up  and  nearly  ripped  in  half 

The  sewed  seams  of  the  double-headed  calf; 

He  hit  the  rope  that  strangled  out  the  life 

Of  John  J.  Strong — the  dude  who  killed  his  wife ; 

He  broke  a  show-case,  and  brought  down  to  grief 

The  handcuffs  of  a  celebrated  thief; 


"  I  KICKED  THE  WHOLE  ESTABLISHMENT  WITH  HIM. 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  1 1 1 

He  struck,  and  to  the  floor  in  ruins  carried 

A  hung-up  skeleton  that  wasn't  married; 

He  made  the  monkeys'  cage  a  casual  call, 

And  furnished  new  excitement  for  them  all; 

He  made  a  tune -box  'cross  the  room  to  roam, 

That  happened  to  be  playing  "  Home,  sweet  Home ;" 

He  sudden  ran  against,  before  he  saw, 

A  Tipperary  Injun  and  his  squaw 

(Whose  savage  souls  straightway  within  them  burned. 

And  so  the  greeting  promptly  was  returned); 

In  short,  being  then  in  fair  athletic  trim, 

I  kicked  the  whole  establishment  with  him. 

The  strangest  part  of  all  I  now  must  say, 

And,  stranger  still,  it's  generally  that  way : 

This  fellow's  wife,  that  he'd  used  like  a  drum. 

And  marched  her  full  half-way  to  kingdom  come, 

Defended  him!     And  fell  on  me  unbid 

(And  that  meant  something,  weighing  what  she  did). 

And  clapper -clawed  me,  till,  she  being  done, 

I  had  some  thirteen  bruises  to  her  one, 

(The  dude  stood  by  and  saw  this  last  occur — 

Sponged  even  his  vengeance  on  me  out  of  her.) 

In  spite  of  all  my  rage  and  want  of  care. 
He  didn't  seem  a  bit  the  worse  for  wear; 
And  made  the  judge  believe  'twas  all  my  fault, 
And  chuckled  when  they  fined  me  for  assault; 
And  his  nibs  said,  "There's  pity  in  this  court 
For  one  with  such  a  large  wife  to  support." 

She  died,  a  few  years  later  than  this  row; 
Died  loving  him — Heaven  bless  her,  anyhow! 


Lecturer. 

Now  let  Whale-oil  Jim  be  heard 
In  a  little  lyric  word. 


112  City  Festivals. 

Whale-oil  Jim  sings: 

THE  SPECTRE  WHALE. 

I'll  spin  you  a  tale  of  a  spectre  whale 

That  lives  in  the  northern  seas: 
By  night  and  day  he  swims,  they  say, 

Wherever  he  haps  to  please. 
He  haunts  a  ship  all  through  her  trip. 

Till  stabbed  by  a  luckless  crew, 
And  then  away,  in  the  mist  and  spray. 

He  tows  them  out  of  view. 

,    Then  it's  good-bye,  shipmates, 

A  thousand  leagues  you'll  sail; 
Sing — hey — shipmates, 

You've  caught  the  spectre  whale ! 

I'll  weep  you  a  song  of  Captain  Strong, 

A  seaman  tall  and  bold ; 
He  swore  he  would  slay  that  fish  some  day, 

And  boil  him  in  the  hold. 
But  just  as  soon  as  the  first  harpoon 

Within  his  flesh  was  set, 
They  started  away  for  ]!^owhere  Bay, 

And  maybe  are  sailing  yet. 

Then  good-bye,  shipmates. 

Your  friends  they  wonder  and  wail; 

Swim — fly — shipmates, 

You're  caught  by  the  spectre  whale! 

I'll  laugh  you  a  song  of  Peter  Long, 

A  first  mate  short  was  he ; 
He  swore  if  he'd  fail  to  catch  the  whale, 

That  Satan's  he  would  be ! 
But  first  we  knew,  it  opened  to  view 

Its  mouth  so  wide  and  strong, 
And  caught  him  fast,  and  that  was  the  last 

We  saw  of  Peter  Lonjr. 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  1 1 3 

Then  good-bye,  shipmates, 

You'll  take  a  Jonah -sail; 
Soft  lie,  shipmate, 

Your  berth,  the  spectre  whale ! 

I'll  heave  j^ou  a  word  of  Nicholas  Bird, 

A  foc'sle  liar  was  he — 
Showed  part  of  the  tail  of  the  ghost's  own  whale 

That  he  killed  in  '53. 
He  finally  said,  "  When  I  am  dead 

My  ghost  will  give  him  a  try, 
And  that  I  say  is  the  only  way 

The  spectre  fish  can  die." 

Then  fare  you  well,  shipmate, 

For  if  you  did  not  lie. 
Too  much  truth  to  tell,  shipmate, 

Is  just  as  bad,  or  nigh. 

We  grappled  the  man  by  a  sudden  plan 

(A  struggling  fish  was  he) ! 
And,  begging  his  ghost  to  perform  its  boast, 

Flung  Nicholas  in  the  sea. 
And  oft  at  night  he  is  seen  by  the  light 

Of  the  miracle -loving  moon, 
To  chase  the  Avhale,  through  calm  or  gale, 

With  the  ghost  of  his  old  harpoon. 

Then  good-bye,  shipmate, 

And  if  your  ghost  should  fail 
Itself  to  die,  shipmate. 

Perhaps  you'll  catch  the  whale. 

Lectukek. 
Here's  the  young  discouraged  wight. 
Who,  one  afternoon  or  night, 
Hoping  that  his  life,  sore  blighted. 
Could,  by  wronging  it,  be  righted ; 
Thinking,  if  for  sorrow's  sake, 
He  his  sad  career  might  break. 


114  City  Festivals. 

Through  some  fate  it  might  be  mended, 
From  the  mammoth  bridge  descended, 
And,  by  guardian  angels  guided, 
Head-first  in  the  water  glided; 
Through  the  awful  danger  skimming 
Like  a  truant  bo}"  "in  swimming." 
Let  him  now,  in  private  glory, 
Tell  once  more  his  public  story. 

[The  Bkidge-jumper  arises  amid  wild  applause^  not 
heing  a  freak  hy  hirth,  hence  not  having  displayed 
sufficient  attraction  to  arouse  envy.  He  is  an  in- 
offensive little  fellow,  with  an  exceedingly  sad  face. 


THE  BRIDGE -JUMPER'S   STORY. 

Oh,  who  can  tell  what  spirit  brought 
To  earth  that  firebrand  Suicide, 

Or  whose  insanity  first  taught 

The  art  to  those  whose  courage  died. 

And  lived  again  in  coarser  thought? 
The  selfish  crime  doth  still  abide, 
And  murders  mortals  far  and  wide. 

Oh,  who  describes  the  dark  despair 
That  falls  in  floods  upon  the  heart. 

And  drowns  in  blood  the  healthy  care 
That  breeds  employment's  cheerful  art; 

Then  clogs  the  tempest -shrieking  air 
With  terror's  swiftly -flying  dart. 
To  force  the  frenzied  brain  apart? 

Oh,  who  can  count  the  many  woes 

To  which  the  lonely  crime  is  traced? 

The  lovers  false,  the  genuine  foes, 
The  staining  lash  of  foul  disgrace. 

Gaunt  poverty's  heart  -  weakening  blows. 
Red  dissipation's  prizeless  race. 
And  lunacy's  uncouth  embrace? 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  1 1 5 

Oh,  who  can  tell  the  thoughts  of  him 

Who  knows  that  in  a  second's  time 
His  earthly  eyes  must  stagger  dim, 

His  soul  desert  the  earthly  clime — 
He  hopes  life's  lamp  once  more  to  trim, 

He  fears,  to  plunge  through  depthless  slime 

And  drag  the  fetters  of  his  crime? 

He  knows  not  whether  pitying  friends 

May  meet  him  at  the  shattered  door, 
And  with  their  kindness  make  amends, 

For  fate,  of  what  has  gone  before, 
And  aid  the  mercy  Heaven  extends 

To  standi  his  pain- charged  spirit -gore, 

And  soothe  him  sweetly  evermore ; 

Or  whether  he  be  doomed  to  bear 

The  linger -tip  of  cruel  scorn, 
And  in  the  silent  spirit -air 

May  hear  the  words,  "  A  coward  born !" 
As,  followed  by  a  new  despair. 

O'er  roads  beset  with  poisoned  thorn, 

He  runs  a  race  of  rage  forlorn; 

Or  whether,  o'er  his  troubled  soul, 

Oblivion  as  a  mercy  creeps, 
And  guards  him  out  of  care's  control 

Within  its  broad,  mysterious  deeps  ; 
And  thus  while  years  above  him  roU, 

He  free  from  pain  and  pleasure  sleeps. 

And  time's  deep  ocean  o'er  him  sweeps; 

Or  whether  from  this  plunge  of  fate 

He  sinks  in  valleys  red  with  fire. 
Inhabited  by  fiends  of  hate — 

New"  cruelties  their  sole  desire — 
Who  hope  their  sufferings  to  abate 

By  helping  hell's  demoniac  ire 

To  make  his  sufferings  yet  more  dire! 


1 1 6  City  Festivals. 

And  who  can  tell  how  long  he  thought 
And  brooded  o'er  his  deadly  scheme, 

And  webs  of  fact  and  fancy  wrought 
To  make  the  project  easy  seem ; 

And  his  weak  muscles  courage  taught, 
By  his  despairing  spirit's  scream, 
In  daylight's  thought  and  midnight's  dream; 

And  who  can  tell,  when  the  frail  cord 

That  holds  his  life  once  loose  is  thrown. 
And  helplessly  he  rushes  toward 

The  unescapable  unknown, 
How  suddenly  is  now  abhorred 

The  death  he  sought  in  moments  flown ;  .  .  . 

If  life  once  more  could  be  his  own ! 

If  yet  again  he  could  but  try 

This  world's  rough  tangle  to  make  straight! 
A  hundred  methods  meet  his  eye 

To  open  rescue's  gilded  gate; 
A  thousand  griefs  that,  when  so  nigh. 

So  heavy — now  have  little  Aveight ; 

Could  he  but  live,  now  'tis  too  late ! 

And  all  the  pages  of  his  life 

Turn,  rustling,  in  his  opening  brain : 
The  love,  the  hate,  the  peace,  the  strife. 

The  hope,  the  grief,  the  loss,  the  gain ; 
Once  more  disease's  hiltless  knife — 

Once  more  the  joy  of  banished  pain; 

The  good,  the  bad,  the  true,  the  vain ; 

He  lives  a  lifetime  of  despair 

Between  his  dying  and  his  death; 

As,  crucified,  he  lingers  there, 

A  loud  voice  drowns  his  burdened  breath  : 

"Mercy  in  earth  or  Heaven  or  air 
Is  not  for  him  who  blasphemeth 
Against  God's  image!"     Thus  it  saith. 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  1 1 7 

So  when  I  leaped  from  yonder  span, 

In  death  ray  burning  soul  to  lave, 
Hot  demons  through  the  spirit  ran, 

And  held  me  as  their  suffering  slave, 
A  long  eternity  began ; 

And  every  instant  was  a  grave. 

That  pain,  instead  of  slumber,  gave. 

An  instant  may  be  made  a  year ; 

A  second's  thousandth  million  part 
May  be  an  age  of  pain  and  fear, 

Whose  every  moment  probes  the  heart; 
And  many  heavens  or  hells  can  here 

Be  lived,  ere  for  the  land  we  start. 

Whose  borders  know  no  earthly  chart. 

God  brought  me  back ;  'twas  thus  that  I 

Once  more  life's  honeyed  air  could  sip ; 
He  somehow  heard  my  silent  cry. 

Recalled  me  in  the  deathward  trip, 
And  brought  me  back  once  more  to  try. 

With  streaming  face  and  pallid  lip, 

Eternity's  apprenticeship. 

This  trembling  world  doth  not  contain — 

However  deep,  however  wide — 
Enough  of  sorrow,  fright,  or  pain. 

Or  woe  unknown,  or  grief  untried. 
Or  frost  of  heart,  or  fire  of  brain. 

Or  anything — to  drive  or  guide 

My  steps  again  to  suicide! 

I  stand  before  the  gazing  throng, 

JSTot  for  the  paltry  gain  of  purse: 
To  pray  them  not  from  shame  or  wrong 

To  fly  to  evils  that  are  worse. 
And  hoping,  as  my  race  among. 

This  hideous  story  I  rehearse, 

That  God  may  stay  the  selfish  curse. 


ii8  City  Festivals. 

Propkietor. 

Doleful  tale  is  that,  indeed ! 
Let  us  all  take  wholesome  heed, 
Striving  not  to  lose  our  lives, 
Till  the  proper  time  arrives. 
And,  meanwhile,  for  order's  sake. 
Let  each  listener  now  awake. 
While  a  story  sweetly  flits 
From  the  Bearded  Lady's  lips, 

\Tke  Bearded  Lady  nses  shyly,  throws  hack  some 
masses  of  raven  hair, parted  in  the  middU,  grooms 
a  luxuriant  heard  and  mustache  with  eight  taper- 
ing fingers,  hlushes  slightly,  and  proceeds. 

THE  BEAKDED   LADY'S   STORY. 

When  woman  out  of  man  was  made, 
Where  she  in  ambush  had  been  laid ; 
When,  with  Heaven's  wisdom  for  a  guide, 
She  crept  forth  from  her  husband's  side. 
Part  of  him,  yet  not  all  his  own, 
A  dream  of  flesh  and  blood  and  bone 
(And  ever  since  has  been,  'twould  seem, 
His  cherished  and  evasive  dream, 
And — as  I  hardly  need  to  mention — 
The  constant  bone  of  his  contention) ; 
When,  thrilled  with  intuition's  lore. 
She  looked  the  situation  o'er. 
And  saw  how  weak  she  w^as,  compared 
To  him  who  Avith  the  world  she  shared ; 
Saw  how  each  gesture  of  his  hand 
Her  goings  and  comings  might  command ; 
Saw  how.  Heaven's  purpose  to  fulfil, 
Her  motions  leaned  upon  his  will ; 
She  made  her  mind  up,  that  same  hour. 
That  she  must  wield  a  different  power; 
That  she  must  gain  her  motives'  length, 
By  indirect  and  subtle  strength. 
And,  glancing  in  a  pool,  saw  she 
Was  so  much  handsomer  than  he, 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  119 

She  beauty's  cord  might  round  him  tie, 
And  thus  the  lack  of  strength  supply ; 
And  so  she  made,  with  motive  good. 
Herself  as  handsome  as  she  could. 

Indeed  (although  I've  sometimes  thought 

My  thought  oft  thinks  more  than  it  ought) 

I've  thought  sometimes  that  half  the  reason 

She  coaxed  young  Adam  into  treason 

Against  Divinity's  command. 

To  take  the  apple  from  her  hand, 

"Was  her  prophetic  vision,  staring 

At  herself,  gorgeous  dresses  wearing, 

When  fig-trees,  other  trees,  and  all 

The  birds  and  beasts  would  come  at  call, 

And  by  the  aid  of  artists  clever. 

Would  make  her  handsomer  than  ever. 

Flounces  and  ribbons  are  a  prize 

In  any  regular  lady's  eyes ; 

And  good  appearance,  in  her  heart, 

Of  good  religion  is  a  part. 

This  being  truth,  you'll  easy  know 
Why  'tis  that  woman  suffers  so. 
When  nature  takes  a  sudden  Avhim, 
And  tricks  her  out  in  masculine  trim, 
Making  her  (if  a  little  pun 
Just  slipped  in  here  for  my  own  fun 
Won't  lower  me  in  your  regard) 
Mustached  and  bearded  like  her  pard. 
Some,  lotions  use,  to  stop  its  growth, 
And  peel  off  skin  and  whiskers  both ; 
With  tweezers  uncombined  with  ruth. 
Some  draw  them  like  an  aching  tooth ; 
To  keep  their  dreadful  secret  sure. 
Some  surreptitiously  procure 
Kazor  and  soap — sly,  honest  plan — 
And  meet  the  trouble  hke  a  man; 
But  each  must  always  watch  and  doubt, 
For  fear  their  hair  will  find  them  out. 


I20  City  Festivals. 

One  such  as  this  I  knew  of  well 
(Although  her  name  I'd  scorn  to  tell, 
For  not  alone  does  queer  old  Nature's 
Quaint  mind  have  whims  about  our  features; 
We  bearded  ladies  gossip  smother, 
And  always  stand  up  for  each  other): 
This  lady  was  a  teacher  fair — 
A  principal ;  and  with  great  care 
Watched  close  a  school,  it  would  appear  did, 
Composed  of  several  girls,  unbearded ; 
And  strove,  she  said,  they  might  not  stray 
One  hair's  -  breadth  from  the  narrow  way. 

But  several  neighboring  student -boys. 

Debarred  by  her  from  social  joys. 

Which  they  fallaciously  deemed  due 

(The  girls  concurring  in  that  view). 

Marked  slyly  as  their  mischief's  own, 

This  razor -wielding  chaperon; 

And  in  a  sneaking  manner  then 

Resolved  to  beard  her  in  her  den; 

And  on  one  Halloween  they  stole 

A  large  and  lurid  barber -pole. 

And,  more  in, anger  than  in  wit. 

Beneath  her  window  fastened  it, 

In  such  unprecedented  way 

'Twould  not  be  moved  till  noon  next  day — 

A  target  for  by -passers'  questions. 

And  sly  tonsorial  suggestions. 

In  fact,  the  symbol,  as  it  proved. 

Could  never  somehow  quite  be  moved; 

It  was  a  shame  ridiculous. 

To  treat  a  bearded  lady  thus! 

And  still  if  she,  I  can  but  say. 
Had  just  let  Nature  have  its  way. 
And  not  clipped  off  the  strands  it  spun. 
But  helped  them,  as  she  might  have  done. 
She  could  have  been  a  first-class  freak. 
And  made  more  money  in  a  week, 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  121 

Than  in  a  whole  scholastic  year; — 
But,  then,  we  women  folks  are  queer. 

Until  she  moved  some  distance,  where 
Unknown  yet  was  her  face  and  hair; 
And  she,  this  guiltless  shame  above, 
Could  prosecute  her  work  of  love. 
Her  pupils  day  by  day  she  taught 
With  precept  kind  and  subtle  thought, 
And  ne'er  appeared  with  any  trace 
Of  manhood  on  her  thoughtful  face ; 
Her  mild,  sharp  practice  not  detected, 
And,  as  she  prayed,  still  unsuspected ; 
Although  in  various  times  and  shapes 
She'd  several  close  hair -breadth  escapes. 
She  did  her  work  well  as  she  could. 
And  all  but  rivals  called  it  good. 

And  she  had  hoped  to  live  her  life 
Alone,  Industry's  faithful  wife; 
And  the  staid,  solemn  comfort  felt, 
Of  those  to  whom  no  man  has  knelt; 
And  who,  no  doubt,  will  e'er  escape 
All  interference  of  that  shape; 
Was  gathering  fast  the  curious  ways 
That  antique  maiden  life  displays; 
And  settling  down,  the  strands  to  weave, 
Of  a  long  quiet  winter  eve. 

When,  presto!  came  a  comely  man, 
Who,  by  well -laid  heroic  plan. 
And  Love's  sly,  sinless,  treacherous  art. 
Found  means  to  trap  her  virgin  heart! 
And  with  imperious  methods  bland, 
Humbly  petitioned  for  her  hand. 

What  now?     Love  promptly  took  the  field, 
And  wildly  pleaded  her  to  yield; 
Tired  loneliness  its  woes  enlarged, 
And  humbly  begged  to  be  discharged ; 


122  City  Festivals. 


Old  age  peeped  at  her — most  in  sight — 
And  holloed  "  Yes !"  with  all  his  might ; 
Ambition  made  a  lively  speech, 
Wherein  he  did  not  fail  to  reach 
A  rival  maid  her  lover  knew, 
And  artfully  had  held  in  view; 
And  Comfort — sweet  her  voice  did  blend — 
Said,  "  Let  me  be  your  friend,  my  friend  I" 
But  tired  Despair,  with  hopeless  frown, 
Pointed  a  fateful  finger  down, 
"Where  'twixt  the  lovers  had  been  laid 
A  sharp  and  fiercely  gleaming  blade ; 
And  that  was,  as  you'll  easy  guess, 
A  razor — mirror  of  distress ! 

What  should  she  do  then?    "Wed  her  lover? 
Then  he  The  Secret  might  discover, 
And  every  sympathy  refuse. 
And  she  his  scared  affections  lose. 
And  if  she  firmly  answered  "Kay," 
Then  she  would  lose  him  anyway. 
And  so  for  weeks  she  vacillated 
Whether  to  be  or  be  not  mated. 

At  last  a  bright  idea  occurred : 
She  wrote  The  Secret,  every  word, 
Enclosed  it  to  him  in  a  letter. 
And  felt  disconsolate,  but  better. 
Then,  like  a  prisoner  mystery -fated, 
She  for  his  answer  watched  and  waited. 

She  waited  well ;  a  week  went  by. 
Also  her  hope  of  quick  reply. 
She  waited  long;  a  month  appeared, 
But  brought  no  reference  to  her  beard. 
And  'twas  a  campaign  every  day. 
Through  student  ranks  to  fight  her  way — 
To  train  youth's  talent  into  art, 
Pipe  off  the  gushes  of  the  heart, 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  123 

And  proffer  pearls  of  greatest  price 

In  golden  caskets  of  advice ; 

The  tune  of  others'  heart  -  strings  taking, 

The  while  her  own  were  slowly  breaking; 

And,  treading  life's  rough  pathway  o'er. 

Shave  regularly  as  before. 

At  last,  one  eve,  a  package  came, 
That  bore  her  chaste  baptismal  name, 
In  a  loved  hand  she  knew  so  well! 
And — let  me  now  its  contents  tell : 
A  brush  of  rare  and  daintj"  mould ; 
A  shaving  -  cup  of  purest  gold ; 
A  razor,  in  whose  haft  of  jet 
Large  diamonds  and  pearls  were  set; 
A  hand-glass,  whose  fine  ivory  frame 
In  ruby  letters  bore  her  name; 
And  other  things,  such  as  form  part 
Of  amateur  tonsorial  art ; 
Whose  terms  I  cannot  call  to  mind. 
Using  no  utensils  of  that  kind. 

But  maybe  you  have  not  surmised 

The  treasures  she  most  dearly  prized : 

Her  first  love-letter!  which  contained 

This  flood  of  passion  unrestrained  : 

"  Dearest  of  maids !  I  now  unfold 

A  secret  until  here  untold : 

When  those  wild  students  basely  reared 

A  monument  unto  your  beard. 

Thus  laying  on  your  shrinking  soul 

A  large  ten -dollar  barber -pole, 

I  was  the  barber,  and  reveal  it. 

From  whom  the  scamps  bought  leave  to  steal  it. 

But  seeing  you  bore  with  such  sweet  grace 

Those  coarse  allusions  to  your  face. 

How  bravely  you  ignored  the  slur, 

How  patient,  meek,  and  kind  you  were, 

And  yet  how  like  a  stricken  deer 

You  fled  in  grief,  if  not  in  fear. 


124  OVy  Festivals. 

I  loved  you  deeply,  and  pursued ; 
Found,  met,  loved  better  still,  and  wooed. 
Your  facial  gifts  I  loved — not  braved ; 
Besides,  you  see,  my  mother  shaved. 
And,  life  being  made  financial  summer 
By  uncle's  death  (a  cold -snap  plumber), 
My  being's  sole  object,  I  confess. 
Is  your  joy,  peace,  and  happiness. 
Knowing  the  fact  your  letter  stated, 
Still  for  your  word  I  hoped  and  waited; 
And  see  you  now  one  whose  sweet  heart 
Would  nothing  keep  from  me  apart." 

They  married ;  and,  in  checkered  cheer. 

Lived  happily  for  many  a  year. 

She  proved  a  solace  in  his  life — 

A  faithful,  kind,  instructive  wife; 

And  he  from  eartli's  rude  contact  saved  her. 

And  every  morning  neatly  shaved  her. 

Proprietok. 
Moral :  let  the  truth  prevail. 
Though  the  heavens  and  earth  may  fail ; 
Though  for  love's  endearments  pleading. 
Love  lies  wounded,  sick,  and  bleeding. 
Nothing  holds,  in  age  or  3'^outh, 
Like  the  firm,  old-fashioned  truth; 
Nothing  long  can  stand  in  place. 
If  truth  be  not  at  the  base. 

Lecturer. 
Truth!  a  curio  that  is  worth 
All  the  others  on  this  earth. 

The  Disabled  Balloonist  {who  has  made  five  hundred  and  sixty- 
seven  successful  ascensions,  and  one   unsuccessful  one). 
Truth !  the  only  star  whose  ray 
Shines  the  brighter  when  'tis  day ! 


The  Festival  of  the  Freaks.  125 

Dwarf. 

Truth !  though  sometimes  small  to  see, 
Greatness  hath  her  home  in  thee! 

Giant. 

Truth !  whose  strength  in  field  or  town, 
Tears  all  worthless  structures  down ! 

First  Albino, 

Truth !  a  maid  whose  eyes  sincere, 
As  the  mountain  brook  are  clear! 

Indian  Chief  {aside). 

Truth !     Humph  !     Ugh !     A  great  big  mound, 
Where  no  white  man's  scalp  is  found ! 

The  Sword-eater. 

Truth!  whose  blade  of  brightest  hue 
Cleaves  the  false  and  spares  the  true! 

The  Juggler. 

Truth!  whose  oft -secreted  ball 
Comes  up  finally  top  of  all ! 

The  Armless  Man. 

Truth !  in  genuine  fabric  shows, 
Made  with  fingers  or  with  toes! 

The  Faster. 

Truth !  a  table  thickly  spread. 
Where  all  hungry  may  be  fed! 

The  Snake-charmer. 

Truth !  on  whose  magnetic  arm 
Serpents  wind  and  do  no  harm ! 

Bearded  Lady. 

Truth !  when  I  to  live,  must  lie, 
Guardian  angels,  let  me  die ! 


126  City  Festivals. 

\^A  footstep  in  the  hall.  The  door  opens  with  a  hang; 
a  large,  resolute,  hut  frightened  -looking  woman 
entei's,  and  glares  sharply  up  and  down  the  room. 
The  Bearded  Lady  creeps,  under  the  table. 

Fkightened  but  Resolute -looking  Woman. 

Lost !     Lost !     Lost  I     My  husband's  lost ! 

On  my  lonely  bed  I've  tossed, 

Fighting  desperation's  power, 

Waiting  for  him  hour  by  hour. 

Till  suspense  paled  into  fear. 

Say,  freaks,  is  not  my  freak  here  ? 

Do  admit  me  to  him,  pray ! 

Prayers  shall  for  my  ticket  pay! 

Or  if  he  has  cut  the  show. 

Tell  me  where  he  said  he'd  go, 

So  I  there  no  time  may  waste, 

And  through  other  haunts  may  haste ! 

[She  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  Beaeded  Lady  under 
the  table. 

There  he  is — cheek,  lip,  and  chin; 
Drunk  once  more,  as  sure  as  sin ! 

[Hauls  him,  from  under  the  table  hy  hair  and  heard. 

Stagger!  for  your  road  is  broad! 
Oh,  you  liair- faced,  bare -faced  fraud! 
Here's  your  shawl  and  bonnet,  see  ? 
Now,  sir,  travel  home  with  me ! 


Peopeietoe. 


[She   leads  him  away,  somewhat  sobered  and  isery 
much  suhdued. 

Beat  that,  any  one  who  can! 


Indian  Chief. 

Humph !  the  chin  -  scalp  squaw's  a  man ! 


THE  FESTIVAL  OF  THE  TRAM  CLUB. 


®l)e  JTesttDal  of  t\)t  SEvam  Club. 


Conductor. 
Comrades  of  this  festival, 
Is  there  one  who  can  recall 
Ancient  snail -drawn  stage-coach  days, 
Ere,  by  metal -bordered  ways. 
The  life-crowded  lightning- train, 
Trampling  loud  from  plain  to  plain, 
Bearing  its  own  steed  of  steam. 
Was  a  truth,  and  not  a  dream? 
Ere  through  storms  or  gleams  of  day, 
Flying  cities  sped  their  wa}"^ ; 
Ere,  by  night,  the  brilliant  cars. 
Like  a  stream  of  shooting -stars. 
Yet  inhabited  by  man, 
Their  swift  pageantry  began? 


Baggage  -  man. 


A  MODERN  CASSANDRA. 


Yes ;  I  can  recollect  a  time,  when,  if  I  had  suggested 
That  things  like  cars  would  ever  be,  I'd  almost  been  arrested. 
Before  they'd  let  a  fellow  make  a  prophecy  much  hazier. 
They'd  put  him  in  asylum  walls,  and  maybe  make  him  crazier. 
There's  toleration  for  a  man  behind  the  times,  some  distance; 
But  any  one  that's  far  ahead — he  won't  enjoy  existence. 

Xow  there  was  Ruby  Willoughby :  as  fine  a  girl  as  often 
Kept  twenty  fellows  cooing  round,  her  heart  toward  them  to  soften. 
She  'tended  the  debating- schools,  much  sage  instruction  gaining. 
And  heard  all  subjects  there  discussed,  to  earth  and  heaven  pertaining; 


130  City  Festivals. 

But  as  for  making  speeches,  then — girls  never  used  to  do  it, 
Being  not  supposed  to  say  a  thing,  however  well  they  knew  it. 
(They're  more  like  men  are,  nowadays,  my  observation  teaches; 
The  less  they  know  about  a  thing,  the  longer  are  their  speeches.) 

One  evening,  when  the  theme  picked  out  to  steer  the  disagreeings. 
Was  whether  iron  or  gold  w^as  most  of  use  to  human  beings, 
Each  speaker  was  assigned  his  views  on  this  important  matter, 
And  not  a  single  first-class  speech  had  cut  through  the  clatter, 
A  young  chap  raised  his  safety-valve — a  handsome,  Avholesome  fellow 
As  ever  made  a  maiden's  heart  love- ripen  till  'twas  mellow; 
A  regular  Patrick  Henry  speech  he  made  as  Iron's  attorney, 
And  scraped  the  sky,  and  all  the  crowd  went  with  him  on  the  journey; 
My  very  hair  stood  up  to  hear  the  chap's  sublime  oration. 
(Insurance  agenc}''  became  his  ultimate  vocation.) 

And  Ruby  sat  and  looked  at  him,  her  head  by  little  raising, 
And  her  blue  eyes  grew  dark  like  night,  and  then  burst  out  a-blazing 
(She  oft  had  traded  looks  with  him,  as  if  she  meant  to  mean  them. 
And  something  more  and  less  than  space  was  thought  to  be  between 

them) ; 
And  when  he'd  finished,  she  arose,  wrapped  in  a  frenzied  flurry. 
And,  shouting  "  I  will  prophesy !"  went  at  it  in  a  hurry. 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  "  in  yonder  vale  a  horse  of  iron  go  speeding. 
And  bushels  oft  of  blazing  coals  are  measured  for  his  feeding! 
His  head  is  iron,  his  body  iron,  his  feet — the  earth  while  scorning — 
His  breath  is  like  the  chimney-smoke  upon  a  Avinter  morning! 
He's  harnessed  up  in  brass  and  steel,  the  buckles  wide  and  gleaming; 
His  neigh  is  like  the  autumn  gales  when  through  the  forest  screaming ! 

"  I  see  a  dozen  carriages  behind  him  swiftly  running, 
All  full  of  comfort  and  of  light,  and  trimmed  with  dexterous  cunning ; 
Like  flying  cottages  they  look,  with  palace -splendors  gliding; 
But  travellers  w^alk  about  in  them,  as  if  at  home  residing! 
All  things  seem  for  their  comfort  made,  quick  met  are  all  their  Avishes. 
I  see  the  flutter  of  their  beds,  the  gleaming  of  their  dishes. 
They  read,  they  write,  they  stitch,  they  laugh — all  in  the  flying  car- 
riage ; 
They  even  spin  the  tender  threads  that  weave  the  strands  of  marriage ! 


The  Festival  of  the  Tram  Club.  1 3 1 

"  I  talk  with  one  whose  sable  hue  proclaims  a  bondsman  lowly, 
Yet  with  a  haughty -humble  air  he  answers  questions  slowly. 
I  ask  him  if  the  horse  is  his;  his  ample  lip  grows  shorter; 
He  answers,  '  Not  exactly,  miss,  but  I'm  the  Pullman  porter.' 
What  this  may  mean  I  do  not  know;  but  people  who'd  live  gayly, 
Submit  to  him  with  deference,  and  pay  him  tribute  daily. 

"  He  tells  me  that  some  travellers  there,  are  sad  of  heart  and  feature, 
Because  they  are  not  'up  on  time,'  or  something  of  that  nature; 
Five  hundred  miles  they've  journeyed   since  the  sun's  last  previous 

setting ; 
They'll  come  to  Boston  'three  hours  late,'  and  that  is  why  they're 

fretting. 
They  sit  and  sulk  while  drawn  by  hoofs  that  well  might  drown  the 

thunder. 
And  murmur  and  repine,  instead  of  being  dazed  with  wonder! 

"They  still  complain — heavens,  what  is  that!   the  horse  is  reeling — 

stumbling ! 
Beneath  his  clattering  steel -shod  feet,  the  iron  road  is  crumbling! 
A  crash — a  blaze  like  burning  clouds  in  thunder- beaten  weather — 
Horse,  rider,  travellers,  carriages — all  crush  and  crash  together! 
Pain  !     Blood  !     Death !     Help ! " —  the  prophetess  with  consciousness 

grew  weaker, 
And  fell  into  the  willing  arms  of  the  preceding  speaker. 

So  it  became  a  legend -joke — the  fact  of  Ruby's  vision — 

Until  at  last  a  fact  appeared  with  terrible  precision : 

A  railroad  through  that  valley  runs,  in  just  the  same  direction 

She  pointed  at,  the  night  she  made  her  strange  tour  of  inspection ; 

Also  a  railroad  accident,  with  Horror's  hand  to  mould  it. 

Occurred,  one  night,  not  half  a  mile  from  where  the  girl  foretold  it. 

Conductor. 
Sailors  through  the  hills  and  dales, 
Is  one  here  can  tell  us  tales 
Of  those  times  when  doubting  man 
First  to  "railroad  it"  began? 
When  the  giant  Steam's  employ. 
Was,  to  move  a  toiling  toy? 
8 


132  City  Festivals. 

When  a  "train  of  cars"  would  seem 
O'ergrown  wagons  pushed  by  steam? 
When  most  mortals  did  not  know 
Whether  railroading  would  "go," 
Or  rest  in  the  weary  round 
Of  things  "tried  and  wanting"  found? 

Train -DESPATCHER  reads: 


JONATHAN  JARVIS. 

Now  ponder  long,  ye  comrades  dear, 

The  tale  that  I  shall  tell, 
Of  Jonathan  Jarvis,  Engineer, 

And  tilings  that  him  befell; 
And  learn  from  this,  'tis  oft  amiss 

To  do  your  work  too  well. 

Twas  in  a  stormy  time  o'  the  year, 

In  the  fall  of  forty -two, 
That  Jonathan  Jarvis,  Engineer, 

As  he  was  wont  to  do, 
Had  just  begun  to  take  his  run 

To  the  town  of  Kalamazoo- 

His  engine  was  of  largest  stripe 

That  so  far  had  been  made; 
The  smoke-stack  big  as  a  chimney- pipe — 

The  whole  five  hundred  Aveighed ; 
And  it  could  go  twelve  miles  or  so, 

Per  hour,  adown  a  grade. 

The  whistle  it  did  sound  as  loud 
And  startling -like,  and  shrill, 

As  boj^s,  with  jack-knives  bright  endowed. 
Of  bass-wood  carved  with  skill, 

And  never  a  bell  to  ring  the  knell 
Of  those  the  cars  miffht  kill. 


The  Festival  of  the  Tram  Club.  133 

The  driving-wheels  were  large  as  those 

Upon  a  wagon  small; 
And  we  may  naturally  suppose 

That  there  were  four  in  all; 
And  four  were  there,  that  box  to  bear 

That  they  the  tender  call. 

And  Jonathan  Jarvis,  Engineer, 

Was  full  of  worthy  pride; 
He  was  a  popular  man,  and  dear 

To  all  that  country-side; 
And  every  boy  was  wild  with  joy, 

That  could  with  Jonathan  ride. 

It  was  a  sight  to  see  the  train 

The  country  thundering  through ; 
And  maidens  fair  as  maids  could  be. 

Ran  all  of  the  doors  unto ; 
But  Jonathan  yet,  with  teeth  firm  set. 

Kept  on  for  Kalamazoo. 

Eftsoon  a  terrible  storm  uprose, 

Of  thunder  and  lightning,  too ; 
The  air  was  full  of  flood  and  flame, 

The  sky  yet  blacker  grew ; 
But  Jonathan  still,  with  iron  will. 

Kept  on  for  Kalamazoo. 

The  storm  sped  on  with  all  its  might; 

It  made  immense  display ; 
"With  whirring  wings  the  raven  Night 

Flew  into  the  lap  of  Day ; 
But  Jonathan  still,  with  iron  will. 

Kept  on  his  wooden  '*  way. 

The  wind  it  roared  and  cried  and  laughed. 

The  rain  in  billows  flew; 
They  tried  to  wreck  the  small  land  -  craft ; 

But  Jonathan,  fiercely  true. 


134  ^'^fy  Festivals. 

Still  strove  to  make,  for  Duty's  sake, 
The  port  of  Kalamazoo. 

A  blue  light  over  the  smoke-stack  hung, 

As  oft  upon  a  mast; 
The  rain -drops  to  the  boiler  clung. 

And  strove  to  hold  there,  fast ; 
And  gaudily  dire  great  balls  of  fire 

Along  the  railway  passed. 

The  cars  of  the  train,  they  all  unhitched 
(One  coupling  strength  did  lack). 

And  down  a  grade,  as  if  bewitched, 
They  all  went  skurrying  back; 

But  Jonathan  yet,  with  teeth  firm  set. 
Kept  up  the  slippery  track. 

The  engine  tipped  and  creaked  and  groaned, 

As  might  a  ship  at  sea, 
And  like  a  living  animal  moaned, 

And  strove  to  struggle  free, 
And  soon  appeared  with  wheels  upreared 

Against  a  fallen  tree. 

Then  Jonathan  Jarvis  did  a  deed 

Like  loftier  men  oft  do : 
His  good  umbrella  spread  with  speed ; 

And,  first  his  fireman  knew, 
With  one  fierce  shout,  he  started  out 

Afoot,  for  Kalamazoo. 

"Come  back!"  his  fireman  yelled;  "Come  back!" 

With  many  a  loud  halloo ; 
But  still  he  hurried  up  the  track, 

With  purpose  born  anew, 
And  said,  "  I'll  break  my  neck,  or  make 

The  town  of  Kalamazoo!" 

And  some  time  on  the  following  day. 
And  blind,  and  deaf,  and  lame. 


CONDUCTOK. 


The  Festival  of  the  Tram  Club,  135 

A  bootless  tramp,  half -blown  away, 

Into  the  station  came. 
Who  yelled  in  glee,  "Excelsior!     See? 

I  got  here,  just  the  same!" 

Umbrella  and  hat,  they  both  were  gone, 

His  vestments  showed  but  few. 
And  every  rag  that  he  had  on. 

The  storm  had  whipped  in  two; 
A  scurvier  wight,  by  day  or  night. 

Ne'er  entered  Kalamazoo. 

You  see  he  lost,  some  distance  back. 

His  engine,  train,  and  crew ; 
Left  most  of  himself  along  the  track, 

His  purpose  to  pursue; 
Even  lost  his  head;  but  gained,  instead. 

The  town  of  Kalamazoo. 

And  many  a  man  on  life's  long  road, 

Has  toiled  to  "get"  somewhere. 
And  left,  while  onward  still  he  strode. 

All  things  both  good  and  fair, 
And  reached  the  spot,  and  found  that  not 

One -tenth  of  himself  was  there. 


Flyers,  with  strong  wings  of  steel. 

Is  there  one  who  can  reveal 

That  he  saw,  'gainst  earth  or  skies. 

Railroad  apparitions  rise? 

Met  a  straggler  from  the  hosts 

Of  the  flesh -divested  ghosts, 

That  in  sorrow  walk  the  earth. 

Clinging  where  their  woes  had  birth? 

In  our  nerve -exciting  rounds 

Oft  are  curious  sights  and  sounds; 

If  one  be  here  who  can  tell 

Such  a  story,  do  it  well. 


136  City  Festivals. 

All  are  gazing  at  yon  brown 
Engine-driver,  shrinking  down, 
Who  believes  that  phantoms  live. 
Rise,  ghost -advocate,  and  give 
Us  to  hear  the  privilege. 
Of  the  ghost  of  Breakneck  Bridge! 


THE  ENGINE-DRIVER'S  STORY. 

Since  you're  all  bearin'  down  on  me,  and  won't  let  me  up  without  it, 
I'll  tell  you  a  story,  providin'  you'll  let  me  foller  my  plan ; 

Nor  I  sha'n't  fly  the  track,  although  you  appear  to  doubt  it, 
But  push  ahead  to  my  station  as  fast  as  ever  I  can. 

Company,  please  excuse  me  fur  all  my  gropin'  an'  skippin' ; 

Likewise  from  whistlin'  at  crossin's,  or  makin'  stops  to  explain ; 
Never  was  on  the  explain;  it  sets  a  man's  drivers  to  slippin'. 

Wherefore  he's  sure  to  be  losin'  more  time  than  he'll  ever  gain. 

Johnny  McNutt  was  my  fireman :  as  fine  young  feller  as  ever 
Planted  his  hoof  on  a  foot -board,  or  swore  at  sulphury  coal; 

Al'ays  in  his  place,  an'  'Merican  meanin'  of  clever. 

Without  any  gage  on  his  pockets,  or  steam -brake  onto  his  soul. 

Johnny,  he  had  a  wife :  she  somehow  must  ha'  bewitched  him. 
Fur  she  was  old  an'  ugly — how  old  I  do  not  know; 

The  boys  was  al'ays  wonderin'  as  how  she  ever  had  switched  him; 
But  it  was  a  dead -true  certain,  for  she  had  the  orders  to  show. 

Twenty  times  he  had  switched  her,  an'  left  the  old  gal  behind  him ; 

Twenty  times  she  had  followed,  an'  stuck  to  him  like  a  burr; 
Wherever  he  might  run,  she  was  always  sure  to  find  him ; 

For,  poor  old  soul,  she  loved  him,  although  he  couldn't  her. 

All  the  "legal"  remedies  that  surfeited  folks  is  tryin' 
Johnny  took  no  stock  in ;  he  sent  her  half  his  pay ! 

An'  though  the  lawyers  offered  a  square  divorce  for  the  buyin', 
He  made  no  run  for  freedom,  except  to  keep  out  of  her  way. 


"evert  once  in  a  short  time  she'd  come  upon  us  quick. 


The  Festival  of  the  Tram  Club.  1 39 

Now  when  John  fired  with  me,  he  was  feelin'  some'at  better, 
An'  somehow  had  an  ide'  he'd  nothin'  more  to  fear; 

For  he'd  seen  nothin'  of  her — not  even  the  ghost  of  a  letter, 
As  he  in  confidence  told  me — for  somethin'  more  than  a  year. 

But  just  as  we  was  a-startin'  one  night  from  a  one-hoss  station, 
She  climbed  up  onto  the  foot -board,  a-lookin'  wrinkled  an'  wan, 

An'  went  for  John,  an'  hugged  him  an'  kissed  him  like  all  creation! 
An'  the  more  he  tried  to  shake  her,  the  more"  the  old  gal  hung  on ! 

Breakneck  Bridge  is  a  matter  of  fifty  foot  from  the  bottom ; 

Nothin'  when  you've  got  there,  except  the  rock  an'  sand ; 
An'  just  as  we  struck  the  centre,  as  if  the  old  boy  had  got  'em. 

They  both  went  off  together,  before  I  could  raise  a  hand! 

Off  in  the  pitch-black  darkness,  they  both  of 'era  went  a-flyin'; 

Off  in  the  pitch  -  black  darkness,  they  both  pulled  out  for  Death ; 
An'  when  we  found  'em,  the  woman  was  down  on  the  rocks  a-dyin' 

An'  John  had  catched  on  a  timber,  mashed  up  an'  out  o'  breath. 

An'  Johnny  laid  off  for  repairs,  an'  full  for  a  year  I  missed  him ; 

But  very  first  time  he  was  able  to  make  his  run  once  more. 
Sir,  the  ghost  of  a  wrinkled  woman  climbed  up  in  the  cab  an'  kissed  him, 

An'  when  we  got   to  the  Breakneck  Bridge,  went  off,  as  she  did 
before. 

I  knowed  when  I  opened  my  valves  that  you'd  some  on  you  disbe- 
lieve me. 

Though  why  you  should,  I'm  certain  is  more  than  I  can  think; 
For  eyes  ain't  tongues,  an'  mine  don't  often  go  to  deceive  me. 

An'  I  never  doused  my  head -light  with  any  kind  of  drink; 

Sir,  so  that  singular  woman  run  down  on  us  all  summer; 

Every  once  in  a  short  time  she'd  come  upon  us  quick; 
Till  John  remarked  to  me,  "  There's  no  escapin'  from  her ; 

I'll  have  to  leave  the  engine;  I'm  gettin'  tired  an'  sick." 

An'  afterwards  he  wrote  me :  "  If  I  can  believe  my  senses, 
I  see  my  wrinkled  woman  wherever  I  may  go; 


lAQ  City  Festivals. 

I  reckon  she's  got  a  pass ;  an'  how  to  pay  expenses, 

And  keep  away  from  a  deadhead,  is  rather  more'n  I  know." 

From  which  I  have  learned  this  lesson :  Be  sure  and  never  try  for  't 
To  run  from  a  desperate  woman  that  thinks  she's  treated  wrong ; 

She'll  follow  you  up  an'  catch  you,  although  she  has  to  die  for  't ; 
For  love  an'  hate  together  can  pull  exceedin'  strong. 

Sir,  that's  the  whole  of  my  story ;  I've  tried  hard  not  to  wander, 
An'  done  my  best  t'  work  steady  and  keep  her  up  on  timej 

An'  I  shall  be  somewhat  suited,  unless  that  feller  yonder 
Steams  up  his  poetical  b'iler  an'  runs  me  into  rhyme. 

CONDUCTOE. 

Sailors  of  the  iron  seas, 

Accidents  and  dire  disease 

Oft  afflict  our  toiling  band ;  ' 

Many  a  sturdy  heart  and  hand 

Low  in  cemeteries  lie. 

Past  which  ihey  were  wont  to  fly, 

Knowing,  in  gay  carelessness. 

Naught  of  danger  or  distress ; 

Counting  no  long  Aveeks  of  pain 

In  life -struggles  sadly  vain; 

With  no  fear  of  lying  dead 

'Neath  the  engine's  heavy  tread ; 

Thinking  naught  how  soon  the  places 

That  had  glimpsed  their  smiling  faces, 

As  they  journeyed  to  and  fro. 

Others  in  their  place  must  know ; 

Is  there  one  within  the  room. 

Who  will  voice  that  thought  of  gloom? 

Superintendent. 

UNDER  THE  WHEELS. 

I  have  had  many  hard  things  to  do  in  my  day, 
For  the  life  of  "  the  boss "  isn't  constructed  of  play ; 
We've  a  hundred  new  things  every  hour  to  annoy. 
And  we  work  more  than  any  one  in  our  employ. 


The  Festival  of  the  Tram  Club.  141 

But  the  hardest  day's  work  I  remember  to-night, 

Was  to  visit  a  cottage,  clean,  cosey,  and  bright, 

Where  flowers,  birds,  and  music  were  strewn  without  lack. 

And  to  carry  some  news  that  should  drape  it  with  black. 

A  sweet-faced  old  lady  my  door-signal  met, 

And  gave  me  these  words — I  shall  never  forget. 

If  I  live  till  Time's  wheel  has  crushed  all  things  at  last, 

And  railroads  and  progress  are  things  of  the  past: 

"  You've  called  to  see  Jack,  I  suppose,  sir ;  sit  down ; 
I'm  sorry  to  say  't,  but  the  boy's  out  of  town. 
He'll  be  back  in  an  hour,  if  his  train  is  not  late. 
And  perhaps  you'd  be  willing  to  sit  here  and  wait. 
While  I  give  you  a  cup  of  his  favorite  tea, 
Almost  ready  to  pour. — Oh! — you  called  to  see  me? 
You — called — to — see — me?     Strange — I  didn't  understand; 
But,  you  know,  we  old  ladies  aren't  much  in  demand; 

"You — called — to — see — me.     And  your  business  is — Say! 

Let  me  know  now  at  once!     Do  not  keep  it  away 

For  an  instant!     Oh  I — pardon!     You  wanted  to  buy 

Our  poor  little  house  here?     Xow  thank  God  on  high 

That  it  wasn't  something  else  that  you  came  for! — shake  hands; 

I'm  so  glad ! — and  forgive  an  old  woman's  ado. 
While  I  tell  you  the  facts,  tiU  your  heart  understands 

The  reason  I  spoke  up  so  brusquely  to  you: 

"My  life  hves  with  Jack! — a  plain  boy,  I  confess — 
He's  a  young  engineer  on  the  lightning  express; 
But  he  loves  me  so  true !   and  though  often  we  part. 
He  never  'pulls  out'  of  one  station — my  heart. 
Poor  Jack !   how  he  works !     He  sinlvs  into  this  chair, 

AVhen  he  comes  home,  so  tired  with  the  jar  and  the  whirl ; 
But  he  fondles  my  hands  and  caresses  my  hair. 

And  he  calls  me  his  'love,'  and  his  'darling  best  girl.' 
Poor  Jack!   but  to-morrow  is  Christmas,  you  know, 

And  here  is  his  present :  a  gown  of  fine  wool. 
Embroidered  with  silk;  my  old  fingers  ran  slow. 

But  my  heart  filled  the  stitches  with  love  over -full! 


142  City  Festivals. 

"  So,  when  Jack  is  gone  out  on  his  dangerous  trip, 

On  that  hot,  hissing  furnace  that  flies  through  the  air, 
Over  bridges  that  tremble,  past  sidings  that  sUp, 

Through  tunnels  that  grasp  for  his  life  with  their  snare, 
I  think  of  him  always — I'm  never  at  rest. 

And  last  night — O  God's  mercy! — the  dreams  made  me  see 
My  boy  lying  crushed,  with  a  wheel  on  his  breast. 

And  a  face  full  of  agony  beck'ning  to  me ! 
Now,  to-day,  every  step  that  I  hear  on  the  street, 

Seems  to  bring  me  a  tiding  of  woe  and  despair; 
Each  ring  at  the  door- bell  my  poor  heart  will  beat, 

As  if  Jack,  the  dear  boy,  in  his  grave-clothes  were  there! 
And  I  thought,  when  I  saw  you — I'm  nervous  and  queer — 
You  had  brought  me  some  news  it  would  kill  me  to  hear. 
Please  don't  be  concerned,  sir.     I'm  bound,  that  in  spite 
Of  my  foolish  old  fancies,  the  boy  is  all  right. 

"No,  I  don't  think  we'd  sell.     For  it's  this  tv^ay,  you  see: 

Jack  says  that  he  never  will  care  for  the  smile 
Of  a  girl,  till  he  knows  she's  in  love,  too,  with  me; 

And  I  tell  him — ha!  ha! — that  will  be  a  long  while. 
So  we'll  doubtless  bide  here  a  long  time.     And  there's  some 

Little  chance  of  Jack's  leaving  the  engine,  ere  long. 
For  a  place  in  the  shops,  where  they  say  he'll  become 

A  master  mechanic — good  sir,  what  is  wrong? 

"You  are  death -pale  and  trembling!     Here!   drink  some  more  tea! 
Say !   why  are  you  looking  your  pity  at  me  ? 
What's  that  word  in  your  face? — you've  a  message! — now  find 
Your  tongue ! — No  ? — I'll  tear  the  truth  out  of  your  mind ! 
Jack's  huet!     Oh,  how  hard  that  you  could  not  at  first 

Let  me  know  this  black  news!     Say,  where  is  he,  and  when 
Can  he  come  home  with  me?    But  my  poor  heart  will  burst, 

If  you  do  not  speak  out!     Speak,  I  pray  you,  again! 
I  can  stand  it ;  why,  yonder  's  his  own  cosey  bed ; 

I  will  get  it  all  fixed ; — oh,  but  I'm  a  good  nurse ! 
His  hospital's  home !     Here  I'U  pillow  his  head ; 

I  will  bring  him  to  life,  be  he  better  or  worse ! 


YOU   ARE   DEATH- PALE   AND   TKEMBLING  !      IIEKE  !   DKINK   SOME  MORE   TEA  !' " 


The  Festival  of  the  Tram  Club.  I45 

Oh,  I  tell  you,  however  disfigured  he  be. 

What  is  left  of  the  boy  shall  be  saved,  sir,  for  me ! 

Thank  God  for  the  chance,  even!     Oh,  won't  I  work 

For  my  poor  wounded  child !     And  now  let  me  be  led 
Where  he  is.     Do  not  fear!     I'll  not  falter  or  shrink! 

Turn  your  face  to  the  light,  sir. — O  God!    Jack  is  dead!" 


THE  FESTIVAL  OF  FAMILY  REUNION. 


®[)c  iFcstbal  of  ^amilu  Hcunion. 

Scene  I.,  one  of  the  streets  of  Heaven.     Enter  Jeanie  and  Hugh. 

Jeanie. 

How  strange  that  we  all  should  be  here  together! — 

So  hard  to  expect,  that  bleak  black  day 

When  your  poor  body  was  borne  away, 
Through  the  dreary,  though  sunlit  weather; 
Borne  by  bearers,  slow  but  fleet. 
From  the  house  of  the  tree -roofed  street; 
Taken  by  men  with  solemn  tread, 
And  placed  in  the  vault  with  the  rest  of  the  dead — 
That  we  would  be  ever  again  united, 
That  your  dark  room  would  again  be  hghted! 
I  heard  the  voice  of  the  preacher,  saying, 

"  He  is  not  dead !     He  has  gone  before !" 
I  heard  the  hymns,  the  sobs,  the  praying. 

And  tried  to  believe,  and  hope  even  more ; 
But  reason  said, "  Be  strong  and  clever ; 
March  on  and  give  him  up  forever!" 
His  life  has  fallen  into  a  sea 

Of  other  life  ;  a  raindrop  clung 

To  a  branch  that  over  the  ocean  hung. 
And  was  a  picture  to  you  and  me; 
You  marked  its  delicate  shape  and  glitter, 

And  loved  it  well,  and  called  it  yours ; 
But  it  fell  in  the  great  waves  cold  and  bitter; 

So  how  can  you  say,  "  It  still  endures !" 
And  Faith  cowed  down  at  command  of  reason, 
Hope  crept  away  with  a  look  of  treason. 
And  everything  was  bleak  and  cold 
As  clouds  when  the  winter  dav  is  old. 


150  City  Festivals. 

But  then  my  tired -out  heart  said  over 

Some  words  that  once  to  it  had  been  taught ; 
I  found  them  within  a  Bible's  cover, 

And  comfort  home  to  my  heart  they  brought. 
Yet  still  the  living  will  wonder  whether 
Thev  and  the  dead  can  meet  together. 
Still  the  others  will  wonder  instead, 
How  the  living  can  call  them  dead. 
Now  all  of  our  band  excepting  one — 

And  she  most  loving  and  most  dear — 

Are  met  together,  sojourning  here; 
But  souls  just  with  the  earth -life  done, 

Have  told  me  Mother  would  soon  be  near. 
She  comes  through  the  Gate  of  the  Harrow  Way; 

I  will  watch  for  her — I  must  not  miss  her — 
I  will  be  the  first,  this  gala -day 

To  cuddle  her  in  my  arms  and  kiss  her! 
Then  I  Avill  lead  her — Heaven's  new  star — 
Where  our  brothers  and  sisters  are; 
Then  I  will  make  our  father's  eyes 
Into  a  gleam  of  glad  surprise! 


Hugh. 


But,  sister,  we  know  not  just  the  hour 

When  she  will  come;  though  faith  be  steady, 

To  say,  it  is  not  within  our  power. 

But  Mother  is  here  in  Heaven  already. 

Even  now,  she  may  meet  the  others. 

Talk  with  our  father,  sisters,  brothers; 

Kow  in  the  new- old  home  be  waiting 

Fondly  our  whereabouts  debating. 

As  in  the  earthly  times,  when  we, 

Out  for  an  afternoon  of  glee, 

Came  home  late  to  the  homestead  nest. — 

Of  earth's  angels  brightest  and  best, 

And  most  fitted  for  Heaven,  she 

Will  feel  more  at  home  than  we. 

How  do  we  know,  but  in  this  throng 

We  have  passed  her?     Many  and  long 


The  Festival  of  Family  Reunion.  151 

Gather  the  years  since  her  embrace; 
Maybe  we  would  not  know  her  face. 

jEANife  {reproachfully). 

Know  her!     Give  me  even  so  much 

As  her  eye-gleam — her  hand's  sweet  touch — 

A  tone  of  her  voice — her  step — nay,  less  I 

Even  the  rustle  of  her  dress — 

And  I  would  know  her !     But,  'tis  late ; 

Hasten  we  on  to  the  Narrow  Gate ! 


Scene  II.,  the  same.  Enter  the  spirit  of  an  aged  lady.  She  walks  up  and 
down  as  if  looking  for  some  one.  The  brother  and  sister  ptass  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street  without  seeing  her. 

Aged  Lady. 
I  am  in  Heaven ! — in  Love's  metropolis, 
Faith's  resting-place,  Hope's  loftiest  mountain- top ; 
Prayer's  last  request,  Virtue's  supreme  reward ; 
The  never-ceasing  Harvest  Home  of  Life! 
Yet  how  its  wonders  daze  and  frighten  me. 
And  put  my  earth-imaginings  to  shame ! 
'Tis  what  I  thought,  and  yet  not  what  I  thought ; 
'Tis  wliat  I  felt,  and  yet  not  what  I  felt ; 
'Tis  what  I  knew,  and  yet  not  what  I  knew. 
O  Ruler  of  all  realms,  be  good  to  me — 
A  plain  old  woman  from  that  plain  young  world — 
And  if  not  pure  enough  to  see  thy  face. 
Or  if  too  humble  for  thy  voice  and  hand 
(No  wonder,  coming  from  the  least  of  stars). 
Pray  send  me  pilotage;  for  'tis  a  state 
Most  strangely  sad — this  being  lost  in  Heaven ! 

[Jeanie  and  Hugh  disappear  in  the  distance  with- 
out her  seeing  them.  Enter  a  little  girl,  dressed 
in  white. 


152  City  Festivals, 

Little  Gikl  {clasping  Aged  Lady's  hand). 

Lady,  as  these  domes  you  pass. 

Just  let  loose  from  worldly  being; 
Earth  still,  like  a  darkened  glass. 

For  a  moment  dims  your  seeing. 
Soon  Heaven's  wonders  3'ou  shall  trace, 
Heart  to  heart,  and  face  to  face ; 
Soon  this  City  land  explore, 

Having  learned,  with  sweet  endeavor. 
How  to  learn  and  prosper  more — 

How  to  find  new  joys  forever. 
Kow,  till  from  old  fetters  free, 
I  your  faithful  guide  will  be. 

Aged  Lady. 
Thanks,  modestly  precocious  maid  of  Heaven, 
But  I  have  many  dear  old  friends  in  town — 
Friends  who  have  loved  me — friends  who  would  not  wait 
A  moment  if  they  knew  I  waited  them. 
Why !  on  the  earth,  for  half  a  hundred  years. 
When  I  from  distance  -  shadows  reached  home's  light, 
Friends  met  me  with  soft  kisses  and  w^arm  smiles ; 
And  would  they  let  this  long,  dark  journey  cease — 
A  journej'^  they  had  taken,  and  so  knew 
What  it  would  be — without  even  silent  words 
Of  welcome — yes,  a  long  and  sweet  embrace? 
There's  some  mistake ;  they  did  not  get  the  word ! 


Little  Girl. 


God  has  undiscovered  ways 

Here  within  his  narrow  portals; 

Oh,  they  puzzle  even  the  gaze 
Of  the  wisest  of  immortals ! 

Angels  know  not  all  His  plan. 

Even  on  earth,  with  humble  man ; 

Much  less,  in  this  serial  story. 

Of  his  god-bewildering  glory! 

But,  sweet  lady,  never  fear ; 

No  pure  joy  on  earth  is  given, 


A   GRAND   OLD   MANSION   ON   A   CITY   KOAD. 


The  Festival  of  Family  Reunion.  155 

But,  all  glorified  and  clear, 

Can  be  reproduced  in  Heaven. 

Aged  Lady. 
Oh,  sweet-voiced  girl,  so  wise  beyond  your  years, 
Are  earthly  houses  e'er  rebuilt  in  Heaven? 

Little  Gikl. 

There's  no  place  where  memory 

Goes  for  tidings  good  and  pleasant, 
None  where  love  and  purity 

Have  been  found,  but  here  are  present. 
All  best  things  on  earth  are  mere 
Shadow-copies  cast  from  here; 
All  earth's  good  has,  on  this  side, 
It's  original  glorified. 

Aged  Lady. 
Sweet  girl,  one  time,  that  far-off  earth  contained 
A  grand  old  mansion  on  a  city  road. 
Yet  with  its  little  field  of  lawn  embraced — 
A  stately,  prosperous  pile,  and  still  a  home. 
Vines  nursed  their  pretty  children  of  green  leaves, 
And  buds,  and  fiow^ers;  and  the  well -guarded  door 
Reached  out  its  brass  hands  for  all  those  to  shake 
AVho  came  with  kind  intent.     No  honest  Want 
E'er  w^ent  away,  except  with  grateful  smile. 
Sweet  children  raced  and  shouted  through  its  halls. 
And  mimicked  older  life  in  sports  and  games; 
Here  hearts  and  hands  clasped  in  true-thoughted  love. 
A  thousand  eves  did  hospitality 
Light  up  those  halls  with  kind  and  welcome  guests, 
'Mid  Hoods  of  light  and  life  and  happiness. 
But  Time  and  greedy  Commerce  have  pulled  down 
Our  refuge,  and  have  left  of  it  no  trace. 
Great,  huckstering  shops  are  spread  upon  the  lawn ; 
The  world  came  past  and  swept  our  home  away. 
I  have  not  even  its  picture  for  my  eyes, 
Though  it  has  long  been  painted  on  my  heart. 


156  City  Festivals. 

Think  you  that  I  might  not  see,  just  for  once, 
A  picture  of  the  dear  old  house  in  Heaven? 

Little  Girl. 

Wishes  are  fulfilment  here, 

When  with  God's  desires  agrreeino^ ; 
Turn  and  look ;  your  home  is  near ; 

Heaven  in  Heaven  awaits  vour  seeing-. 

\The  Aged  Lady  turns  and  views  the  old  house,  evi- 
dently smiling  recognition  at  her.     She  hursts  into 
tears. 
Little  Girl. 

Joy  should  plume  your  heart  with  wings! 
Do  you  weep  at  pleasant  things? 

Aged  Lady. 
Alas!  on  earth  we  do  so  learn  to  weep — 
The  habit  ev^en  follows  us  through  joy; 
I  thank  you,  angel  girl — I  thank  Thee,  God ! 
'Tis  the  old  house  once  more — 'tis  Heaven  in  Heaven ! 


Scene    HI.,  -^4  room   in    the   neio- found   old   mansion.     The  Aged  Lady 
icalking  up  and  down,  alone. 

Aged  Lady. 
The  same  old  home,  in  the  Great  Home  restored ! 
Each  loved  hall's  floor  my  practised  feet  have  pressed ; 
All  nooks  and  corners  my  glad  hands  have  found; 
My  eyes  have  fed  on  each  familiar  scene. 
All  is  the  same!     Restored — I  must  believe, 
By  well -taught  angel  hands — how  faithfully  ! 
And  every  room  had  tales  to  tell  to  me 
Of  loved  old  times;   and  every  wall  had  tongues. 
And  talked  a  Avhile  about  the  dear  dead  days  ; 
But  ah,  what  empty  rooms !     Not  one  sweet  face 
Of  all  those  loved  ones!     Oh,  kind -hearted, God, 


The  Festival  of  Fa77iily  Reunion.  157 

Does  loneliness  pursue  us  even  in  Heaven? 

Home  ne'er  was  home  when  husband  was  not  there! 

\A  door  opens  and  her  husband  enters.     They  rush 
Jo  each  other'' s  arms. 
Husband. 

You  see,  there  were  so  many  things 

That  no  one  knew  but  we,  dear — 
So  many  sly  heart- whisperings 

Plad  gone  'twixt  you  and  me,  dear ! 
So  many  thoughts,  and  all  our  own, 
'Twas  hardly  Heaven  to  live  alone, 
Even  with  Heaven's  glories  round  me  strown ! 

You  see,  though  friends  all  came  this  way, 

To  grasp  me  by  the  hand,  dear ; 
There  was  so  much  I  wished  to  say, 

They  could  not  understand,  dear! 
Though  sympathy  around  me  fell, 
And  my  earth -woes  were  pitied  well, 
There  was  so  much  I  could  not  tell! 

Though  friendship  could  not  theirs  excel 

In  being  kind  and  true,  dear. 
There  was  so  much  I  could  not  tell 

To  any  one  but  you,  dear ! 
It  calls  for  Heaven's  supremest  art 
To  heal  a  warm  and  loving  heart. 
That  from  its  half  is  crushed  apart. 

And  so  from  Heaven  I  used  to  gaze 

Through  tields  of  space  afar,  dear, 
Upon  the  distant  homesick  rays 

Of  one  particular  star,  dear; 
There  ne'er  was  one  of  mortal  birth 
Looked  more  at  stars  of  heavenly  worth 
Than  I  from  Heaven  gazed  at  earth. 

There  were  so  many  things  to  see. 
Alone,  I  could  not  view,  love! 


158  City  Festivals. 

Heaven's  angels,  they  were  good  to  me, 

But  then,  they  Avere  not  you,  love ! 
I  wondered  so  that  you  could  stay 
So*  many  years  from  me  away, 
When  my  heart  called  you  every  day ! 

And  one  by  one  the  children  came: 

Each  one  had  to  bereave  you ; 
And  all  were  sad,  though  not  with  blame. 

So  lonely  they  must  leave  you ! 
For  while  there  is  no  sorrow  here. 
There  may  be  yearnings,  sweetly  drear. 
For  cherished  ones  who  come  not  near. 

But  no^,  once  more,  and  face  to  face. 

In  happiness  we  meet,  wife; 
And  through  your  care  and  God's  sweet  grace 

Our  family  is  complete,  wife! 
From  valleys,  mountains,  snows,  and  sands, 
From  cit}^  streets  and  forest  lands. 
They  come  to  clasp  your  3'earning  hands. 

Aged  Lady. 
My  children,  children,  children — are  they  here? 

[J.  door  opens^  and  five  of  her  loved  ones  enter  ^  con- 
ducted hi/  the  LrrTLE  Girl  guide,  who  then  dis- 
appears. 

Aged  Lady  {clasping  them  one  after  another).. 
My  loved,  lost  children !  found,  and  found  in  Heaven ! 
Children  and  homestead  both  together  found ! 
Kow  Heaven  be  praised,  for  Heaven  is  Heaven  at  last; 
K'ow,  once  again,  we  learn  that  home  is  Heaven ! 


ScEXE  IV.,  same. 
Aged  Lady. 
Come,  let  us  camp  around  the  family"  hearth, 
And  visit,  as  in  those  sun- gilded  years, 


The  Festival  of  Family  Reunion.  159 

When  we  were  happiest ;  let  once  more  our  eyes 

The  watch-fires  of  old  memories  kindle  bright; 

Let's  barter  news  for  news,  and  thoughts  for  thoughts, 

Play  toss- ball  with  the  old  love -cushioned  jokes, 

And  set  the  air  to  singing  with  our  laughs. 

And  yet  'twould  seem,  oh,  sweethearts  of  my  prime, 

As  if,  in  these  long,  slow,  oft-counted  years, 

You  must  have  larger,  stronger,  older  grown. 

But  here  you  meet  me,  young  and  blooming  still, 

Just  as  you  seemed  in  our  best,  happiest  days. 

A  miracle  I  , 

Husband. 

All  things  are  "  miracles," 
Whether  in  eartli  or  Heaven,  till  we  have  found 
Their  law  and  reason.     Early  here  we  learn 
That  wishes  oft  are  their  accomplishment. 

Aged  Lady. 
And  yet  I  grieve  that  you,  being  all  so  young. 
Must  meet  the  mother,  crooked,  bent,  and  worn. 
And  not  so  comely  as  she  was  of  old ; 
For,  trust  me,  I  was  not  so  hideous  then, 
And  had,  I  fear,  some  sinful  worldly  pride. 

S^All  the  others  laugh  merrily. 

Husband. 
There  was  a  picture  in  our  dear  old  house, 
That  I  sometimes  have  seen  j^ou  glance  upon ; 
View  it  once  more  for  me,  and  tell  me  true 
If  'tis  as  then.     Look  in  yon  gilded  frame. 

[Aged  Lady  turns,  and  gazes,  wliere  he  points,  into 
a  mirror.     She  sees  herself  reflected  as  a  heauti- 
ful  middle-aged  woman.     All  laugh,  pettingly,  at 
her  surprise. 
Husband. 
,  The  earthly  count  of  jqhts  counts  not  in  Heaven ; 
All  are  as  one  in  everlasting  prime, 
Free  from  youth's  follies  and  the  bars  of  age ; 
Though  each  may  change  appearance  as  he  likes. 


i6o  City  Festivals. 

And  as  shall  suit  his  Heaven-born  purposes — 
From  old  to  young,  or  young  to  old.     The  soul 
Can  often  change  the  body's  looks  on  earth ; 
A  million  times  as  much  the  spirit -form! 


Scene  V.,  library   of  tJie   mansion.      Parents   and  children    assemble  for 
prayers. 

Mother. 
It  seems  so  strange  to  pray,  now  we  are  given 
So  much  we  toiled  and  prayed  for!     Still,  true  prayers 
Are  partly  thanks ;  and  though  each  separate  one 
Reached  through  eternity — and  it  were  then 
By  millions  and  by  millions  multiplied — 
'Twere  not  enough  to  give  our  God  for  Heaven ; 
And  'tis  our  duty,  from  this  vantage-ground, 
To  plead  for  those  who  suffer  still  on  earth. 

Husband. 
You  know  it  was  a  favorite  plan  of  ours. 
In  each  day's  first -formed  prayer,  to  counsel  well 
What  I  should  ask  for ;  oft  thus  giving  aim 
To  the  petition;  let  us  counsel  now. 

Wife. 
Good  customs  wear  but  brighter  with  the  years. 
How  sweet  that  good  devices  ne'er  grow  old! 
Yes,  I  have  prayers — thousands  of  silent  prayers—^ 
That  I  would  love  to  have  you  lend  a  voice, 
And  proffer  for  me,  even  here  in   Heaven: 
For  misled  mortals,  who  on  earth  still  creep 
Through  thorns  of  others'  wretchedness  and  vice : 
For  mothers,  in  eternities  of  pangs ; 
For  fathers,  in  proud,  sad  solicitude; 
For  youths  and  maidens,  when  temptation  smiles ; 
For  those  who  struggle  in  disease's  clutch ; 
For  those  who  strangle  in  the  sloughs  of  crime; 
For  ships  that  fight  through  battles  of  the  storms, 
And  mortals  clinging  to  their  dripping  sides; 


The  Festival  of  Family  Reunion,  i6l 

For  wrecked  ones,  hanging  to  the  ocean's  top; 

For  toilers,  stifling  in  blockaded  mines ; 

For  wayward  feet  that  led  hearts  into  fire; 

For  mangled  forms  beneath  unflinching  wheels; 

For  those  who  starve,  with  treasures  round  them  stored  ; 

For  those  whose  blood  has  rusted  murderers'  knives — 

Much  more  for  murderers  with  crime -rusted  souls; 

For  those  who  breathe  the  fogs  of  pestilence ; 

For  prisoners  in  unjustly -welded  chains — 

Still  more  for  those  whose  punishment  is  just; 

For  sick  ones — hating  life  and  dreading  death ; 

For  mourners  with  their  wounded  hearts  entombed ; 

For  suffering  every  way  and  everywhere ; 

Nay,  if  it  be  not  wrong — for  spirits  lost! 

Husband. 
The  same  sweet  soul,  with  pity  in  each  throb ! 
And  for  yourself,  can  you  no  favor  ask, 
Or  (as  pure  wish  in  Heaven  for  one's  self 
Is  the  accomplishment)  can  you  not  tell 
Of  some  dear  want,  Avhich,  if  it  has  been  met, 
You  know  not  of  the  granting? 

"Wife.  Husband  mine. 

You  know  the  babe  that  lived  but  one  short  hour; 
She  was  our  last  bud  from  the  vines  of  Heaven. 
And  I,  'mid  throes  of  pain,  was  comforted, 
Because,  I  mused,  her  sweet  and  w^insorae  heart 
Would  cherish  me  when  our  dear  older  ones 
Had  grown  away  from  us.     But  one  short  hour — 
One  hope- strewn,  fear-strewn,  pain-strewn  hour— she  lived. 
How  much  I  have  been  thinking  of  her,  dear — 
Have  longed  for  her!     Say,  have  you  ever  seen 
This  sweet -breathed  baby  of  our  later  love? 
I  yearn  so  sadly  for  her! 

\Enter  the  Little   Girl  guide,  and  imshes   into  tJn 
mother's  arms. 
Little  Girl. 

I  am  she. 


Botes. 


'  "  Early  in  the  following  March  (1677),  the  Quaker  proprietors  completed  and  published  a  body 
of  laws  under  tlie  singular  title  of  Concessions.  But  the  name  was  significant,  for  everything  was 
accorded  to  the  people.  The  first  simple  code  enacted  by  the  Friends  in  America  rivalled  the 
charter  of  Connecticut  in  the  liberality  and  purity  of  its  principles. ...  The  doctrines  of  the  Con- 
cessions were  reaffirmed.  Men  of  all  races  and  of  all  religions  were  declared  to  be  equal  before 
the  law.  No  superiority  was  conceded  to  rank  or  title,  to  wealth  or  royal  birth." — Ridpath's  History 
of  the  United  States.  

*  This  poem  was  first  read  by  tlie  autlior  at  a  reunion  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  in  Orange, 
New  Jersey,  and  tlie  line 

"Traced  over  these  hills  its  eager  track," 

alludes  to  General  McClellan's  love  of  New  Jersey,  his  last  earthly  home. 


'  Wiioever  has  viewed  the  features  of  Stonewall  Jackson  in  life,  in  marble,  or  even  the  most 
ordinary  portrait,  must  have  been  struck  by  the  kindness  and  sweetness  of  their  expression. 


^  It  has  been  reserved  for  a  miniature  South  American  republic,  whose  interests  should  be  the 
same  as  ours,  to  excite  the  hostility  and  war  spirit  which  resulted  in  some  improvement  to  our  navy. 


*  The  Coimcil  at  Salamanca,  in  1486,  to  decide  whether  it  was  best  to  furnish  Columbus  with 
a  few  ships  and  men  for  the  possible  discovery  of  land  in  the  Far  West,  was,  all  things  considered, 
one  of  the  most  interesting  to  be  found  in  history.  The  idea  of  this  obscure  and  poverty-stricken 
mariner  seems  to  have  struck  most  of  these  wise  men  of  Spain  about  as  favorably  as  would  a 
proposed  colonization  of  the  moon.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  at  first  piously  but  bitterly  against 
him.  Fernando  de  Talavera,  who  presided,  was  prior  of  the  monastery  of  Prado,  Confessor  to  Queen 
Isabella,  and  considered  one  of  the  best  educated  men  of  the  time.  He  was  prejudiced  against  the 
new  enterprise.  Diego  de  Deza,  who  appears  in  the  Council  as  Columbus'  friend,  was  at  that  time 
a  professor  of  theology  in  the  Convent  of  St.  Stephen,  and  afterwards  Archbishop  of  Seville.  He 
was  also  a  man  of  liberal  education  for  those  days,  but  had  not  permitted  his  common-sense  and 
liberality  of  mind  to  become  impaired  in  the  process.  As  Irving  says,  with  his  combination  of 
truth  and  elegance,  he  "was  a  man  whose  mind  was  above  the  narrow  bigotry  of  bookish  lore; 
one  who  could  appreciate  the  value  of  wisdom,  even  when  uttered  by  unlearned  lips."  He  assisted 
Columbus  with  his  purse  during  days  of  poverty,  and  contributed  toward  the  enterprise  the  jewels 
of  his  mind  as  lavishly  as  Isabella  did  those  of  her  caskets.  Had  it  not  been  for  his  help  it  is 
very  doubtful  whetlier  the  schemes  of  Columbus  could  have  been  pushed  forward  to  success.  The 
remainder  of  this  Council,  "  professors  of  astronomy,  geography,  mathematics,  and  other  branches 
of  science,  together  with  various  dignitaries  of  the  church  and  learned  friars,"  were  most  of 
them  deeply  prejudiced  against  the  needy  Italian  adventurer. 


*  Alluding  to  the  jvife  of  the  discoverer,  whom,  his  enemies  declare,  he  deserted  and  neglected 
during  his  prosperity.  

'  It  was  one  of  Columbus'  most  cherished  projects  to  use  a  part  of  the  riches  acquired  by  the 
contemplated  discoveries  toward  raising  armies  for  the  recovery  of  the  holy  sepulchre  in  Palestine. 


1 64  Notes. 


"  Columbus  offered  to  whomever  of  his  crew  might  first  discover  land  a  doublet  of  velvet. 
There  had  also  been  offered  a  pension  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  About  ten  o'clock  one  evening 
Columbus  thouglit  he  saw  a  light  in  the  distance  which  might  proceed  from  some  torch  or  lantern 
upon  the  land.  He  called  a  witness  to  view  it  witii  him,  but  they  saw  only  occasional  flashes  of  it 
afterwards.  They  were  not  considered  at  the  time  as  indicating  land  by  any  one  except  Columbus, 
who  evidently  exhibited,  at  this  time  as  at  others,  the  superiority  of  his  judgement  over  those  who 
associated  with  him.  At  two  the  next  morning  land  was  discovered  by  Roger  de  Triana,  a  common 
sailor,  who  claimed  the  doublet  and  the  pension ;  but  the  rewards  were  given  to  Columbus,  on  ac- 
count of  his  having  perceived  the  lights.  The  historical  enemies  of  Columbus,  of  whom  there  are 
many,  have  loudly  denounced  the  action  of  Columbus  in  thus  taking  away  the  pension  from  a  poor 
sailor,  some  of  them  asserting  that  he  did  it  "  to  increase  his  revenue ;"  but  it  is  likely  that  he  cared 
more  for  the  honor  of  the  achievement  than  for  any  financial  benefit  to  be  derived  fiom  it.  The 
poor  mariner  Triana  is  said  to  have  been  so  disgusted  at  the  decision  against  him  that  he  renounced 
ills  country  and  his  religious  faith,  went  to  Africa,  and  became  a  Mohammedan. 


9  All  of  which  (suppositious)  curses  were  literally  fulfilled. 


'"  The  term  "Scientist"  is  employed  in  this  poem  as  with  no  idea  of  reproach  toward  the 
scientists  of  the  present  day,  who,  it  is  needless  to  say,  are  of  an  entirely  different  class  from  those 
of  the  time  of  Columbus,  and  generally  at  the  lead  of  all  discovery  and  progress. 


''  Alluding  to  the  story  that  ColumVjus  received  his  first  ideas  of  land  to  westward  from  an 
old  pilot  who,  in  1484,  eight  years  previous  to  the  voyage  from  Palos,  had  died  in  his  house  at  Ter- 
ceras,  had  left  him  all  his  charts  and  log-books,  containing  an  account  of  his  having  been  driven 
westward  upon  a  recent  voyage  until  he  found  an  island  (claimed  to  have  been  the  present  San 
Domingo).  This  story  has  been  exploded  again  and  again,  but  is  still  brought  up  to  the  discredit 
of  Columbus,  and  will  probably  always  be,  according  to  the  (fictitious)  hag's  prophecy. 


'-  The  Spirit  of  Progress  had  evidently  here  a  prophetic  vision  of  the  Columbian  Exposition,  to 
take  place  at  Chicago,  four  hundred  years  later. 

"  It  has  been  said  that  everybody  is,  to  some  extent,  a  freak  of  nature,  and  there  is  certainly  much 
gold  of  truth  in  this  nugget  of  a  remark.  We  are  all  peculiar,  not  to  say  queer,  in  some  way, 
and  the  only  advantage,  perhaps,  that  we  have  over  the  regularly  recognized  freaks,  is,  that  we  can 
conceal  the  peculiarities  of  mind  which  they  have  to  display  in  the  body.  There  are,  as  we  know, 
many  mental  living  skeletons,  bearded  ladies,  dwarfs,  armless  men,  "  what-is-its,"  etc.,  etc.,  and  it  is 
interesting  and  rather  mournful  to  contemplate  that  in  the  course  of  generations  these  intellectual 
peculiarities  may,  perhaps,  develop  into  regular  physical  freaks.  So  we  must  not  consider  these 
queer  people  whom  we  see  at  the  museums  as  a  separate  race.  They  are  for  the  most  part  intensely 
human,  and  appreciate  good  and  kindly  treatment  from  their  curiosity-seeking  brothers  and  sisters. 
Many  of  them  toil  at  the  wearying,  laborious,  and  oftimes  humiliating  profession  of  exhibiting  them- 
selves, because  it  is  the  only  means  they  possess  of  earning  a  living.  Most  of  them  support  families 
and  friends,  who,  by  being,  unfortunately,  in  possession  of  all  their  limbs,  in  good  and  proper  shape, 
are  unable  to  earn  a  subsistence  for  themselves.  No  wonder  that  the  "  freaks  "  wish  to  have  a 
little  festival  of  their  own  once  in  a  while — to  mingle  in  a  social  gathering  in  which  no  one  of  them 
is  conspicuous,  and  all  are  comrades,  in  full  and  equal  standing. 


"  "  Hey  Reub !"  is  the  show-man's  war-cry ;  and  he  is  bound  in  honor  to  rush  to  the  support 
of  any  of  his  comrades  who  by  this  means  indicates  that  he  is  engaged  in  pugilistic  conflict  with 
some  member  of  the  general  public.  

'*  The  first  rails  used  in  this  country  for  the  running  of  railroad  cars  were  not  steel,  as  at 
present,  nor  even  iron,  but  of  the  tougher  species  of  wood. 


'®  The  number  of  railroad  accidents  in  which  employes  are  maimed  and  killed  is  appalling. 
It  has  been  estimated  that  the  casualties  thus  resulting  on  the  different  railroads  of  the  United 
States  each  year  equal  in  number  those  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo  or  of  Gettysburg. 


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t~83S      DATE  DUE 

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PniNTEO  INU.S.A. 

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